


The Book of Hell

by Klei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Demons, Hell, M/M, Masochism, Religious Conflict, Sadism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 69,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klei/pseuds/Klei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivan decides to summon a demon to take his revenge against those who wronged him, but it comes at a steep cost; this is the story of his life, death, and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Book of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Moved from Fanfiction.net to here, because FF took one look at it and spat it back out by chapter four. I'll just copy-paste the A/N from there:
> 
> Russia tops for most of it (as usual ;P), America is a horny succubus, Canada is badass, France chases tail, England can’t cook, corny corn fest of overdone cheese, blah blah blah. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Don’t praise me for the sake of stoking my ego, I want every error nitpicked to Hell and back. Pointless flames, however, such as the entirely unconstructive “u suk penguin balls,” will be met with a detailed explanation of bird anatomy and how penguins don’t actually have balls. Again, though, don’t be afraid to give REAL criticism. I promise not to whine like a bitch, and if I do, feel free to post a screenshot of my immature bitching on some website somewhere. Oh, oh, another thing! I don’t live in Russia, and haven’t, in fact, actually been there before. (Oh, don’t look at me like that, as though I’m somehow supposed to have the money to burn on flights across the ocean.) As a result, I may accidentally write something within ficverse!Russia that doesn’t make much cultural sense, though I’m going to try my best to avoid that with research. If you see a mistake like this, please point it out for correction. Finally, I don’t speak Russian, and Google Translate sucks. I’ve decided to resist the urge to attempt to insert it when I know it’ll just look broken and make anyone who actually speaks the language laugh in hysterics. With that said, carry on. :3
> 
> Oh! One last important warning. This was truly, honestly supposed to be pure fun and smut at the beginning, but it sort of, err, evolved. There are moments of what may seem like heavy religious contemplation as this thing goes on. As it turns out, I didn’t have it in me to write something involving a demon and Hell without crossing over into that territory. Sorry if that makes any readers uncomfortable.

The library had a massive collection of books. Poetry, fiction, and non-fiction lined the shelves, stretching out for what felt like miles in either direction. Some were tarnished, others were new, most of them with decorated Cyrillic letters printed onto the spines. He'd read many of them before, but none of them interested him right then. How could they, when he had something so much greater to find?

He didn't bother to ask any of the librarians. The portly woman by the cart flashed him a smile, but for the first time, he was too preoccupied to care. Indeed, many of the staff were familiar with him, the young man who preferred the written word to the company of others. Falsehoods so lovingly recorded by ink, spinning tales of idealism and true love. How they loved wrapping him up with a comforting sense of community in a world full of selfish back-stabbers.

_I must be a complete fool._

To think, he'd called in sick from work on such a bizarre whim. A single dream, like any other, futile wishes for an easy way out of the hole he'd dug for himself. In it, he'd been visiting the library, something he did frequently on weekends. But it wasn't like every other trip, and the dream, too, was unlike any he'd ever had before it. It had seemed so real, so _vivid,_ to the point where he'd searched in vain for the book that he'd been convinced had been taken home already.

Slowly, he made his way to the back. Though he wasn't sure it mattered, he followed the exact same winding path as he'd imagined the night before, in and out of the rows of shelves. Up the stairs, then straight to the right. Through the nonfiction section, just beyond the history shelf, there was an alcove in the back where a cozy red sofa sat just beside a window. He'd been there many a time in the past. It was a perfect spot to indulge himself with nonsensical stories of triumph, but he was no longer looking for a nice place to sit.

He'd barely noticed how the pace of his breath had escalated. There was a thudding anxiety within him as he approached, hand outstretched. What if it wasn't there? It would serve him right, for thinking miracles were real. For having the gall to believe that wishing on a star would make all the bad things go away. He was a grown man, not a child.

He looked around to make sure no one was watching. Lucky for him, it was far in the back, the shelves almost entirely blocking him from sight. There weren't too many small children interested in such large and dusty old history books, and most older children and adults would be busy with school or work at such an hour. The coast was clear, and there were no cameras pointed his way. All that remained was to check.

His heart thudded in his chest as he slipped his thumb under the cushion of the seat, muscles tense. It wouldn't be there. There was no way. It had all been just a dream. A desperate fantasy.

He lifted the seat cushion.

 _'The Book of Hell,'_ read the cover, in bright red print. It was about as thick as a dictionary, if not more so, and briefly, Ivan wondered how the cushion had seemed so flat on top of something so big.

Only briefly, of course, because he had to cover his own mouth to hold back his gasp.

_It's real._

Doubt flooded his mind as he lifted it up. A hoax. A scam. It probably wasn't even close to what he expected. Perhaps a bunch of superstitious nonsense.

But then, why would it be in such a location? How had he known it was there?

For a long moment, he stared at the cover. It had almost appeared to shimmer in the shadow of the seat cushion. Oddly enough, it seemed to grow dull as it was struck by the light of the sun through the window. The text faded to a grim maroon, until it was barely distinguishable.

He carefully opened it up to the first page.

The text was black against beige paper, in a simple font that was easy on the eyes. The title again, with the author beneath. _'Arthur Kirkland.'_ A name from an English-speaking country, it seemed, though the book had been translated to Russian. Without noticeable error, to boot.

Again, he turned the page. What he found was a table of contents. Chapter one was labeled, _'Introduction to the Arcane,'_ with the following detailing various types of spells and incantations that would be explained within. It was around that time that he noticed that there wasn't a single mark of slip identifying it as a book belonging to the library. Not a soul would notice if it were missing. It was unclaimed. Therefore, if he just took it without informing anybody, it wasn't actually stealing, right?

* * *

The moment he got home, he immediately slipped the heavy book out from beneath his winter coat. It had been chilly outside, but as he held the book against his gut, it had heated his stomach to the point where he'd acquired a large red rectangle on the skin surrounding his naval. He dropped it onto the kitchen table, then made a beeline for the fridge to get an ice pack to lay down atop the damaged skin. Right then, he didn't really care if it was something a doctor would recommend. If the book was the real thing, a couple unpleasant blisters wouldn't be an issue.

He hissed with relief as the ice numbed the slightly singed area beneath his shirt, and held it in place as he opened the book once more with his other hand. He'd never seen, nor had he ever felt anything quite like it. The materials seemed almost otherworldly! It almost looked like leather, but it was just slightly off in texture, and the letters so skillfully embroidered into it didn't feel at all like ordinary thread. Well, either way, he supposed he would soon find out.

He flipped through to the first page of the first chapter.

_I congratulate you on finding this book, for this is a tome visible only to lost souls with nowhere to turn. The very fact that you're reading this means that you've exhausted most options, to the point where even death may seem a viable alternative to your sorry predicament. You've reached the realization that all roads inevitably converge into a bitter pool of disappointment, and that mortals are but selfish creatures unwilling to show mercy to the less fortunate._

_It's not my place to judge. A humble demon can't truly comprehend the idea of life and all its struggles. Rather, we are meant to watch from the sidelines, learning from your mistakes and occasionally involving ourselves when it suits us. For many of us, those willing to trudge through the hassle of life for the great reward at the end of the tunnel seem to be pillars of patience and trust. They wade through their years with a conviction strong enough to hold our influence at bay._

_But you, my friend, are not at fault. If anything, I applaud your good sense to question why a so-called perfect creator would put their subjects through such a long, painful test. A test where no one is equal, and where evil is the fastest road to reward. Some are left to starve, while others may indulge to their heart's content. It's a valid criticism to have. One that I, a first-generation fallen angel, am also guilty of possessing._

_I must warn you, the content that you are about to read is not to be taken lightly. You still have a chance to turn back. You can burn this book, and allow it to be reclaimed by the fires of Hell. It only counts against you if you follow my instructions. Even if your soul is bound for our realm already, through means that can't be so easily taken back, the consequences for going through with this have the potential to be far worse than an eternity in the land of sin. Here, the unbound souls of mortals wander aimlessly in a world much like yours. That is to say, if your landscape was fire and brimstone. An eternity of life, and all the monotony that such a thing implies. Some even find it comforting, if not quite as fantastic as true ascension to Heaven._

_If you follow the instructions I give you in the following paragraphs, you can turn your world into a paradise, but it comes at a cost. As a mortal, you yourself have no power. The magic in this book comes from binding your soul to one of us, a demon of Hell. In your world, those who do such things are branded witches._

_In life, the demon you bind yourself to will grant you all your desires, provided the proper offerings are made. In death, you will repay the favor with an eternity of servitude to any and all of their twisted whims and desires. I feel compelled to highlight that at that point, there are many who might even take the opportunity to_ _**devour your soul entirely,** _ _until your consciousness ceases to exist._

He slammed the book shut, and brought his hands up to his face in an attempt to control the rate of his breathing. There was no question in his mind that he was already on his way to Hell, but at least he would go on existing! To have his soul potentially devoured by a hungry demon? Was it worth it? Was a brief life of having some semblance of power worth disappearing forever? It was difficult to weigh. On one hand, he could exist in an eternity of 'monotony,' as it had been called. Heck, the way the book described the place, Hell didn't sound half as bad as he'd anticipated, though perhaps a demon's take was bound to be biased, like a realtor painting a run-down wreck of a house as a quaint little paradise.

A punishment of everlasting life with nothing to look forward to in the future after a lifetime of despair? Or a lifetime of power with either an eternity of servitude or ceasing to exist at all in the end?

He opened the book again, with shaky hands and a renewed sense of confidence in his choice. He would take _some_ happiness and a potential end over an eternity of knowing that justice had not been served.

_It's your own responsibility to weigh your decision, and it's perhaps the most important you'll ever make; well, actually, it is **definitely** the single most important decision of your life. Take your time to decide. It wouldn't be good to have any regrets as you're torn apart and eaten._

_It's also important to note that a few rules are in place, on top of our own magical limits:_

_You may not directly command a demon to do something that could potentially destroy them, such as stepping on holy ground. The reasons behind this are fairly obvious._

_You are not permitted to command a demon to kill more than one thousand people, either; any higher than that, and you must kill them yourself. This is related to the third rule._

_You must take care to use discretion. This is as much for your protection as it is ours. Mortals who find out a witch is in their midst will panic and act in ways that could harm both you, and one of us. For this reason, you may not allow more than twenty-five living people to know about your witchcraft at any given time._

_You may not command a demon to take some action after you die. Upon the day of your death, your words no longer hold power or significance._

_At any point, a demon may choose to engage in such behaviors for you regardless, or let a rule slide under their discretion, and there will be no consequences for that. However, these are things that you certainly shouldn't expect, and they will not occur more often than not. If a demon is to do anything on this list for you, it is purely by their own choice. Any broken rules may result in an immediate termination of your power, and your soul will still be owed at the end of your life._

_If you're still reading, I can only assume that you're still inclined towards binding your soul. I applaud your courage. Who knows? The demon you're bound to might take a liking to you. Not that it's something you can, or should, be counting on._

_The following image is of a summoning circle. It should be drawn in blood on a relatively flat floor. The measurements are provided on the diagram. You may use a marking device and a measuring tool of your choice to create the shape before going over it with blood, if you so desire. While metric measurements are given, their imperial equivalents are provided just below the picture. Human blood (not the summoner's) is preferable for the circle, but pig blood is an acceptable substitute for those unable to procure it. Perhaps most importantly, please ensure that the floor you perform this ritual on isn't flammable._

Just as the author said, there was a diagram beneath that paragraph detailing the summoning circle he would have to make. He bit his lip in thought as he contemplated just where to draw such a thing. It was almost odd, as he skimmed the rest of that page, just how businesslike the book was about its instructions. It was almost enough to make him forget that he was, in fact, selling his soul to summon a demon from Hell. It was a little morbid, but he couldn't help but laugh in spite of himself.

Well, if he wasn't going to work, he was going to make the most of his day. By the time he went to sleep that night, he fully intended to be resting on silk blankets. If he was truly giving up his soul, he was going to make sure he spent what remained of his life in the lap of luxury, free from stress and torment.

It took him about a half an hour to replicate the design of the circle in black marker on the cement floor of the basement. It was immensely complicated, full of all sorts of shapes and jagged lines. Needless to say, it certainly wasn't a shape that anyone would ever create by mistake, especially not in blood.

It took another two hours to procure a freshly deceased pig. The nearest store only sold meat packaged and mostly drained, so he'd been forced to drive to a farm almost an hour away, pretending to be a breeder looking for quality stock to purchase. It was a story he hadn't thought through very well, as he'd been forced to pick from the best of the available pigs – in other words, the most expensive of the lot – in order to keep up the ruse. Still, it was no matter to him. When he returned home, he cut its throat open without a second thought. Soon, he would have all he desired. There was no need to be frugal.

"Done," he murmured under his breath, as he gazed down on the intricate design of blood, the pig's carcass laying at his feet. He would mourn the waste of the most expensive pork dinner he'd ever purchased later. He had more important things to worry about.

The book had since been relocated to his desk, the basement serving a double purpose as his office as well as storage. He turned to the next page, just to double check that he had everything prepared. The circle was in place. The carcass of the human or pig used to make the blood was to be placed in the center of the circle as an initial offering. There weren't any holy books or religious images in sight, and he was fairly certain that the water condensing on the pipes above him wasn't holy. Once he was sure everything was in place, all that was left was to chant the incantation with a lit candle in hand.

He flipped open a lighter and set the wick aflame, making sure to keep the book in his line of sight at all times. "Arise, O Demon, beast from below! Share with me your Hellish power, that I might shape life to suit my whims! Grant me that which the Lord forbade, and serve me here and now, as I shall serve you in death! Light blood with cand- oh," he realized. Was it best to start over after such a slip-up? "Ahem. Arise, O Demon, beast from below…"

The incantation repeated, he used the fire of the candle to light the blood. It went up immediately, and he jumped back out of the way. Any doubt he'd had was quenched when the flames consumed the pig in seconds, bone and all.

He waited for several minutes after that. At least three times, he checked his watch to make sure that it wasn't just his anxiety that made it feel like a longer time had passed than it had. Still, there was no sign of anything happening. Just a summoning circle of blood and the same old book. Surely it wouldn't just take the pig and leave? He began flipping through the book for an explanation.

_Allow up to an hour for a response while your offering is consumed. If sixty minutes pass and you're still left waiting, please see the inside of the back cover for information on submitting a formal complaint._

Hell, it seemed, operated much like a customer service line. Somehow, he wasn't surprised.

Just as he was about to turn to the back, however, the blood circle caught fire once again. Something fuzzy and gold melted out of the ground. Hair? An arm shot up, like a corpse rising out of the grave, and slammed itself against the cement of the basement floor. Long, claw-like nails extended from its fingers. It would have been a terrifying sight, were he not completely fascinated.

At last, the figure appeared to finish struggling its way to the surface, and the floor appeared no worse for wear, even as the circle faded into oblivion. On closer inspection, it wasn't quite as scary as he'd anticipated. In fact, it almost looked human, if humans had black horns, pointed tails, long leathery wings, and sharp claws. Rather than being ugly and, well, devilish, it was instead a reasonably attractive male. He was met with even greater surprise as he looked even closer and saw a pair of glasses seated on the blonde demon's face.

"Ah, hello?" he greeted, a little hesitant. The book had detailed the summoning process, but nothing after that. Just the proper offerings for various requested actions, along with a bit of information in the back that he'd admittedly skimmed.

The demon slowly lifted its head, but looked more surprised than anything else. At first, he was concerned that he'd said something to offend it, but that turned out not to be the case.

"Not speak language good," it explained in broken, heavily accented Russian. "Know other?"

He'd been prepared for many things, but trying to find a common language with a demon from Hell was not one of them. Thankfully, his position meant he knew – or at least had some understanding of – a few others, but it hardly took away from his surprise and mild amusement. _"Vous parlez francais?"_

The demon's blue eyes appeared to light up a little in mild recognition, but he shook his head nonetheless. _"Tres, TRES peu,"_ he answered, his R's unrolled. There were multiple languages that did that, but by the look of the creature before him, he was just going to take a wild guess and…"English?" Yeah, he'd guessed right.

Well, he spoke English reasonably well, having had to visit several countries that spoke the language in the past; he was one of the best at what he did, and his talents were sought out by many more people than the ones within his homeland. "Yes, I can speak English."

It was odd to see such a look of relief on the face of a demon, though he supposed he had no other reference for what was normal behavior for them. "Oh, good! Look, I'm really sorry, man. Usually we try to localize, but, well, we're running into some, uh, difficulties down there. Nothing major, just a couple hiccups." He laughed, a loud and obnoxious noise that could only possibly come from a being of the underworld. "The name's Alfred. I take it you're interested in selling your soul?"

"Not so much the selling itself as I am in the results," he answered honestly. He'd already decided that he was going to be frank with the demon. He wasn't one to grovel, even if it meant disappearing forever in the end. "I've read that you can aid me, for the right price."

The demon appeared unimpressed. "Not even gonna introduce yourself, huh? Geez. Anyway, you'd be correct. I give you power here and now, then you let me eat you after you've had your fun. It's a pretty sweet deal." He grinned with pointed canines, tail flicking back and forth as he got to his feet. He was completely unclothed, and appeared unashamed of that fact.

"My apologies," he said in a tone that indicated that he wasn't really sorry at all. The demon had made the mistake of confirming that there was, in fact, no way to change his fate. There was no need to be polite. "I'm Ivan Braginsky. I kill people. Pleasure to meet you."

At last, the demon appeared to perk up. "Alfred Jones, the succubus! Great to finally meet a human with interesting hobbies."

"Succubus?" repeated Ivan, surprised in more ways than one. "Not an incubus?"

Alfred snorted, and shook his head, a playful tone entering his voice as he crossed the floor to get closer to Ivan. "The foocubi are a bit more complicated than that. Succubi sustain themselves on sperm, and therefore chase after men. Incubi need the fluids of a woman. Both can be either gender, or gays would end up left out of all the fun; ha, that'd be kind of ironic, if gay people were immune to that sort of stuff, right?"

"And I got a sex demon, _why?"_

That got Alfred laughing again. "You say it like it's a bad thing! But there's no reason, really. You just got lucky. What, are you worried that I'm somehow gonna botch your demands 'cause I like to fuck?"

A closer look made the news seem a little obvious in hindsight. Naturally, a creature designed to seduce the unwary would take on a form the target would find pleasing. The smell of his sweat filled the room, and it was almost intoxicating, to the point where Ivan barely noticed that Alfred had managed to get close enough to press himself against his chest. One of the demon's wings was wrapped his back, pulling him in even closer.

Regardless, he hadn't constructed a gateway to Hell for a quick fuck, and he wasn't about to let that distract him. It was harder than he anticipated, but he found the will to shove Alfred off of him and take a step back. "I don't care _what_ you are. I called you here for business, not to fool around."

The succubus appeared a little dejected by the rejection. "You're such a stick-in-the-mud. Fine, then. You read the warnings. I ate your pig. Nice pick, by the way, I don't think I've ever had an offering that high in quality." He licked his lips and grinned. "I'll need your heart."

"My heart?" repeated Ivan, confused by the request. "The book said nothing about that."

"It doesn't? That's weird, Artie's usually pretty thorough. Maybe the translator missed it," reasoned Alfred. He reached over and began looking through the pages, only to droop his shoulders and shut it entirely. "Useless, I can't read these weird letters. _Uhg,_ this means I have to explain, doesn't it? Well, let's see, here. The core of your soul, when it leaves your body, is manifested as a beating heart. I'm not taking your _physical_ heart, just the central piece of your soul. Does that make sense?"

"Not very much."

Alfred groaned and bit his thumb. "Umm, let's see. You keep your physical body, including the heart, and I hold onto your soul-heart so that you appear around it when you die." He appeared deep in thought. "Just think of it as a way of ensuring that you wake up wherever I put that heart when you die. Get it?"

"Slightly," said Ivan. Truthfully, he was just as confused as ever, but he supposed it would all become clear in due time. He was eager to get started, and Alfred's bad explanations were delaying him. "Take what you need. I want to get started as soon as possible."

"Impatient, much?" muttered Alfred. "I hope you aren't always this boring."

In a flash of claws, Alfred's hand was embedded straight through the shirt and deep inside of Ivan's chest. Oddly enough, it felt more like an unpleasant tugging sensation than anything painful. Though there was indeed a sense of loss as the demon withdrew a red, beating, there wasn't even a scratch remaining when all was said and done. "Is that all?"

Alfred held the heart close, and ran his tongue over the fragile surface. "You're pretty calm, considering I could end you in a second by destroying this." Ivan shuddered involuntarily as saliva dripped down onto the very core of his soul. "It tastes so good, too."

"You won't, though. You're to do whatever I say until my death, and I'm still alive," answered Ivan, grinning wickedly. He didn't feel afraid, as he had before. Perhaps it was the realization that he was past the point of return, and what was to come was inevitable. "Put that away. We have work to do."

"This is gonna be a _long_ lifetime, isn't it?" groaned Alfred. He closed the hand holding the heart, and it vanished in a brief burst of flame. "What kind of work?"

"Revenge. The organization I used to work for betrayed me, and I'm not going to take that sitting down," answered Ivan, his anger masked by an unsettling smile. "We're going to kill them. _All_ of them."

"Doesn't sound too difficult. Mortals are easy to off. What do you need me for?" asked Alfred, appearing unfazed by the notion.

"The organization we're targeting is a well-armed group of assassins, perhaps some of the most powerful in the country; maybe even the world. It's the group the mafia turns to when they don't want to get their hands dirty, and where wealthy businessmen go to if they're afraid of being linked to the crime," explained Ivan. He opened up one of the drawers on his desk and pulled out a small laptop. "This computer is custom-made, and completely disconnected from all forms of wireless communication; it's not capable of being tapped without a physical connection even if I _wanted_ it to be. The battery, too, is charged separately. Just as an extra precaution. It holds all our – or, rather, their – future plans. I managed to swipe the information on a flash drive shortly before I faked my death and 'disappeared.' "

"Ooh, sounds epic. Go on, this is finally getting cool!"

Ivan jumped a little when it became apparent that Alfred had managed to slip up beside him unnoticed. Either it was some sort of magic, or he was getting rusty. He sincerely hoped it was the former. "We're not just going to kill them. We're going to _humiliate_ them. We're going to sabotage all of these plans, leave them a husk of their former selves, and _then_ kidnap and torture them to death."

"Damn," mused Alfred, whistling appreciatively. "What did these poor suckers do to you?"

"They valued money over our 'bond,' and tried to murder my sister when her ex put a contract on her head," said Ivan, nails digging into the wood of his desk.

"Tried to?"

"I've since had her quite involuntarily relocated to a small farm in Ukraine. It's for her own safety," he answered, smiling sadly. "I wanted my younger sister to go with her at first, but she's probably safer in Belarus; she moved there a long time ago, for, well, various reasons. She knows how to live without drawing attention to herself." Besides, he was hardly going to argue with the only person in the world who never ceased to frighten him. "So, do you think this is within your abilities, succubus?"

Alfred shoved him. "First of all, let's lay down some ground rules. You don't freaking call me 'succubus.' I have a name, and I literally just told it to you. I'm not calling you 'mortal,' or 'human,' so I think that's fair."

"Mmm, but I don't want you to call me by that name. I'd much rather you call me 'master,' " taunted Ivan. "In fact, that's your first command. Besides, who are you to lay down 'ground rules?' I'm the one in charge, am I not?"

"You're pissing me off again," Alfred warned.

"And _you_ are bound by your contract. If my rules anger you, then you can feel free to terminate it at any time, and I won't owe you a thing after I die. You'll have to find some other soul to munch on," snapped Ivan. Honestly, he wasn't sure just how much power he had over the creature when it already had his soul, but then again, he wasn't known for backing down to anything or anyone. Not even a demon. "If you're not going to behave, I'll get someone better to handle this than a sperm-drinking slut with horns. Do I make myself clear?"

The succubus took a moment to gaze up at him with shock on his face, then began laughing his obnoxious laugh yet again. "You're pretty fucking brave for a human. It's okay, I know how to appreciate the massive balls hidden under those pants of yours." Alfred had floated up off of the ground, arms wrapped around Ivan's neck in what appeared to be a hug. "Fine, then, 'master,' I get it. I promise I'll behave. I guess I've just got the munchies. Hey, you think we can have a romp before we start? It'll help you relax a little. You seem tense."

"If I wanted sex, I'd get a prostitute," said Ivan, wholly unamused, even if Alfred was somewhat attractive. "If this is going to become a distraction for you…"

"Look, 'master,' " addressed Alfred, though he was putting his hands up for air quotes every time he said the word. "I get that you're some kind of an asexual, or whatever, but I need sperm to live. If you actually bothered to look at the guide in the back, you'd have found that this actually makes things infinitely easier on you, because I'll take sex instead of blood as an offering. A wrath demon would have you buying them all sorts of expensive cuts."

Ivan paused, then flipped through the book. Just as Alfred had said, there was, in fact, just such a guide in the back of the book, one that he'd dismissed as useless in favor of hurrying things along. Well, that would certainly teach him to do his homework next time he sold his soul; since when had he been so careless?

_You've probably asked yourself by now why it is that offerings are required. After all, you're already giving up your soul. It's hardly a matter of extra payment, though there are indeed some rather greedy demons out there. Rather, most demons require the blood of these offerings to live and power their magic. Without the freedom to hunt these things themselves, it becomes the responsibility of the human to seek these out, lest their soul be consumed before their death as per the clause in section 6 of the agreement written out in the first chapter._

_While most demons require blood as sustenance, there are some that require other sources of nutrition that can either be easier or harder to come by. If you find yourself unable to come by these supplies, or otherwise have difficulty in procuring them – for example, a woman trying to get sperm for a succubi – you may terminate the contract and request another demon. See the back for information on finding a replacement without the need to acquire another offering._

A replacement? He wasn't in the mood to go through that kind of aggravation. At least his current one was eye candy, which sort of made up for his irritating personality. Ivan pressed his hand to his forehead and exhaled. "How often do you need to feed?"

"Depends on how much work we do," chirped Alfred in a tone so mockingly innocent that it was almost sickening. "If I just sat still without doing anything, not even moving, I could go for, oh, about six months. If I move but don't use my powers, then maybe three. I think the most I've ever needed was about a quick session once or twice a day, but that guy was running me ragged. So, let's say once a week, as a general rule of thumb. Not that I'm averse to more, if you get addicted."

It was difficult not to notice the swelling of Alfred's genitals that had taken place since he started to talk. His exposed length was standing alert, a bead of fluid from the tip threatening to drip to the floor. "Fine, then. I want you in the bedroom in five minutes, and we'll take care of that for this week. After you're done, it's time to go over the plan."

Alfred huffed. "I don't think I've ever met someone so disappointed that they have to have sex."

"Well," said Ivan, as he opened the drawer to lock the book inside, "perhaps you're just not a very good succubus."

" _Excuse me?"_ snarled Alfred. It appeared that he'd struck a nerve. "The only reason you're not on your hands and knees begging for me is because I'm not actually trying to seduce you right now. If I were really on the hunt, you'd be a drooling wreck."

"Oh, is that so? Well, you must be trying your hardest to keep me from being overwhelmed, because I've barely felt any attraction to you at all so far," responded Ivan. Well, that was a lie; in fact, he'd been expending quite a bit of willpower resisting the animalistic desire to touch the Hell-whore in all sorts of ways since he'd emerged. However, he wasn't about to show any sign of weakness or need. Not to a human, and not to a demon. Not even to a god, if one popped by to say hello. He was already facing a painful eradication from existence. There was no worse fate that anyone could possibly threaten him with.

"Asshole! I'll show you! You'd better be ready for the most intense fuck of your life!" growled Alfred, fists clenched with determination. "See you in a few minutes."

Before Ivan could answer, Alfred was gone in a flash of fire. Uhg, of all the demons that could have laid claim to him in the afterlife, it had to be the obnoxious one with the stereotypical American speech mannerisms, and a personality that made him feel like someone was drilling a hole into his skull. _And_ it was a succubus, to boot. Why anyone would send a foocubus of either type up to form contracts with humans was a mystery to him.

He took his time heading up the stairs. Some of his former 'colleagues' had been sex-hungry rapists, but he himself had always done his best to treat his victims with a little more dignity than that. He enjoyed a good round of humiliation as much as any other maladjusted serial killer, but only when he felt wronged, and in most cases it wasn't so much a personal thing as it was business. It simply wasn't practical to constantly leave behind so much potential evidence.

Once he was done with his revenge, he would start using Alfred to make more practical desires a reality. Fortune, glory, all those happy things. Perhaps he would pick up a less violent hobby. Maybe he would shoot at targets with his (very much illegal) firearms, instead of at people. Or take up hunting animals. Tiny, helpless animals. A single bullet to their small heads as they ate breadcrumbs out of the palm of his hand. There was something poetic to be found in that, and he was nothing if not a lover of the arts.

The hardwood stairs creaked as he headed up to the bedroom, announcing his presence. He wondered, just briefly, if Alfred had found the room. He didn't remember telling him where it was. Perhaps foocubi could sniff such places out. The thought made him chuckle. Well, at the very least, having to 'feed' the demon meant he would save money on prostitutes; he was no petty thief, and he'd never stiffed them for services rendered in the past, so force had never been an option.

The oak-brown door swung open, and the inside assaulted his senses with an air that felt heavy and hot. Alfred sat with his legs splayed on the bed, dripping with sweat, his half-lidded eyes hazy with need. Were he in his right state of mind, Ivan would have chewed him out for messing up the covers that he'd just washed the other day. As it was, he stepped inside quickly and quietly, and shut the door behind him to contain the aphrodisiac in the air.

"Feeling warm?" asked Alfred, smirking triumphantly. "Why don't you take some of that clothing off? You can start with the scarf."  
Ivan never took his scarf off when he was with company. Even alone, he generally only ever removed it to shower and to sleep. With his sister gone, he'd been tempted to start wearing it to bed, too, but common sense had ultimately prevailed in keeping him from strangling himself to death one night.

Still, he struggled to keep his trembling hands from pulling it off and tossing it to the side. Instead, he grabbed the buttons of his coat, which his fumbling fingers pried apart instead. He let it sit in a heap over the dresser, where it was followed by the shirt and trousers beneath.

"You can't seriously be thinking of keeping that on while you fuck me," breathed Alfred, having since floated – literally – to Ivan's side, hands on his cheeks. "Isn't that just a little tacky, my master?" His moist breath carried no scent, but it carried further warmth that was a pleasure to inhale. Ivan almost forgot that he'd left the heat off while he'd been out, and had yet to turn it back on.

"As a matter of fact, I am," answered Ivan, finally managing to regain some of his faculties as the initial sense of being overwhelmed by heat ebbed away, leaving a bulge in the single article of clothing left on his body.

"Weirdo," murmured Alfred, but with the seductive scent of his magic thick in the air, it remained as alluring as dirty talk. "Fine, you're the boss. Now, then, it looks like you have a present for me." His tail slipped under the hem of Ivan's underwear and began to tug them downwards. Before they could be removed, its pointed end had already ripped them open and flicked them over into the pile.

"Was that really necessary?" growled Ivan.

"I'll fix 'em later. After I've fixed this, that is," said Alfred, not looking at all intimidated by the tone of voice. The tail that had so recently torn apart his clothing slipped up front to wrap around his cock, notably poking out from between the demon's legs instead of around his waist. "Does it hurt? Being so hard and unable to release, that is."

The sharp tip was dragged slowly along the underside of Ivan's length, though lightly enough so as not to draw any blood. "Don't talk to me about pain," hissed Ivan. "A demon can't know the suffering of a mortal."

"Too true. Sucks to be you," conceded Alfred without a fight, a gluttonous smile lining his face. His eyes flickered downward for a moment, only to result in a double-take that finally allowed Ivan a turn to chuckle.

"Something the matter?"

Alfred turned back up to face him with a look on his face that just screamed, 'are you joking?' "Well, I can see why you're so sexually frigid. As though any human could live with _that_ staring them in the face; no way that thing can fit inside a normal person! I don't know how you ever survived before I me! Clearly, it's a coping mechanism."

Ivan shoved Alfred backwards; the demon would have tripped over the bed, had he not started flapping his wings to regain his balance. "I've bedded more whores than you've had fucks."

"Impossible," said Alfred quite plainly. "Most humans live to be about thirty thousand days old, max. You'd have to have had sex multiple times a day _every_ day from the minute you were born to even get close."

"You're rather bubbly as you spout out such morbid things about human lifetimes," mused Ivan.

"Haven't you ever torn the wings off of flies for shits and giggles? It's different when it happens to lesser beings, ya' know? If anything, I'd be the most sympathetic to your plight," purred Alfred. Ivan couldn't quite remember having crawled into bed on top of the succubus, but there he was. "Most of us just feed on you guys in your sleep. I get the lovely choice of either making nice and having some awesome sex, or tearing the testicles from unsuspecting victims to forcibly extract their sperm."

Well, that wasn't a pleasant image, but it was certainly an amusing one. To Ivan, anyway. "Perhaps you aren't so irritating as I first thought." He parted the succubus' legs, and they opened without a problem. Demons, it appeared, were incredibly flexible creatures. While he was tempted to spend a moment admiring such a perfect split, Alfred appeared to be growing impatient. The intoxicating aroma looming thick in the room was working quickly and efficiently, luring him in like a warm fire in a blizzard.

"Of course I'm not irritating you. I could say anything right now, and you'd still bend over backwards for me," boasted Alfred in a manner that, true to form, still managed to sound painfully erotic. "Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to force you into anything as long as we have a contract. You're the boss, _'master.' "_

"Good. It wouldn't do for your…" He took a moment to consider the best word to describe it. _"…appetite_ to get in the way of anything. Now, aren't you going to bend over for me?"

The suggestion was taken without complaint or hesitance. "You're not gonna bother with preppin' me, are you? Because I can promise you that I definitely don't need any of that crap. This body is built for fucking."

Alfred seemed a bit more proud of that fact than Ivan guessed that most humans would be. Then again, creatures of Hell had no reason to follow the virtues that so many people strived to embody. "I'm honestly offended. Here I thought my introduction of 'I kill people' would make it clear that I'm not that considerate." Somehow, he got the feeling that allowing people who didn't piss him off too much the dignity of a fast death instead of a slow and painful one didn't really qualify as compassionate on his part. "I'm only doing this to quell my own desires and feed you. It's not my problem if you're pained or unsatisfied."

The slim red tail of Alfred's lower back was dragged down his chest. "Cold, much? I guess commies just aren't that good in bed. Woe is me," he said mournfully.

"Commie?" repeated Ivan, as his hands slid down from Alfred's shoulders to his hips. What an outdated insult. "Just how long has it been since you've last come to the mortal realm, Alfred?"

"Ooh," breathed Alfred as Ivan's fingers went back up from his hips to his chest, where they began to mercilessly play with his nipples. "All the time. I have to have sex to live, remember?" Well, that made the fact that he wasn't with the times significantly more upsetting. "Only – ah – _losers_ hang out in Hell and wait for the more – nngh – adventurous of us to bring them back some, _mmmh,_ sustenance." He moaned out as the head of Ivan's erection teased his entrance, gently prodding without quite going in. "Hey, don't take so long, I'm hungry."

"Patience is a virtue, didn't you know?"

"Says the witch to the demon."

Ah, that was right. Humans who made contracts were, according to the book, witches, weren't they? Though their powers were not truly their own, he supposed it would have been impossible for anyone else to have known that in the past.

Ivan pressed the tip in slowly; it was definitely a chore to restrain himself, but he wasn't about to start in like some animal with minimal self-control. "Do you always depend so much on aphrodisiacs?" he teased. "Clearly your charm isn't quite up to snuff."

That appeared to have been a mistake, because suddenly the tip that he'd inserted was being clamped down upon with immense force. "I'm going to eat you _slowly,_ you asshole."

Though immensely pained, Ivan didn't let up. "You will relax, or our contract is over, and you won't get that chance."

Alfred whined and writhed. "C-come on, I was just kidding! Oh, oh fuck!" It was difficult to tell whether or not he was acting; he was reacting beyond what most humans would be to simply getting prodded. Lust demon or not, it seemed a bit excessive. "Please, master, impale me with that huge cock! Ah, ye-yeah, mmh!"

He jerked up as he was entered, quivering so much that it was as though he were vibrating. His inner walls were scorching hot, clinging on tight and refusing to let go. Ivan was surprised by how smooth it was; any human male would have been dry and in need of lubrication, but Alfred's innards seemed naturally slick. Though tight, he never once got the sense that he would have to worry about tearing. Like a rubber band, it stretched to accommodate him.

"Ya' know," breathed Alfred, "I can't tell you how relieved I am that you're not one of those straight-as-fuck people who order me not to try and seduce 'em. I hate it when they make me drink it out of a cup."

The thought of someone masturbating into a cup in order to feed a succubus would ordinarily have gotten a laugh out of Ivan, but he was a bit too distracted to truly appreciate the humor.

"A shame I didn't think to do that before I got here."

Alfred's legs were wrapped around his waist, and he didn't appear to want to let go anytime soon. Every inch of his skin was a sweet spot, to the point where he was tempted to grab a handful of hair and yank on it just to see what the reaction would be. His reaction to the full force of Ivan's bite on his neck was a delighted squeal, and though it made an indent, it didn't so much as bruise.

"S-so good! I- Master, more, oh, yes, please!" he pleaded. "Ooh, that's the spot!"

"You just told me I had it at a completely different angle!"

"I really mean it this time, though! _Oh,_ ah, slow down!"

There was no way that he could possibly have slowed down when he was that close. Besides, he _was_ in charge, no? He kept at it, maintaining a steady but fast pace until fluids erupted from Alfred's length.

At that point, orgasm hit him like a train. While Ivan wasn't exactly one to stoke egos, he would have been lying to say that it hadn't been immensely more enjoyable than he'd initially presumed. Though he tried to pull out, Alfred wasn't having any of it; not until every last drop of his seed had been squeezed out of him. When he was finally able to remove himself and fall over onto the mattress, he noted that there wasn't anything that trickled out after him.

"Unholy shit," panted Alfred, who was snuggling up a bit too close for comfort. "That's gotta be one of the best lays I've ever had. Top ten! No, top five! I mean, I actually _came!"_

"…So?"

Alfred just stared at him, flabbergasted. "I don't think you appreciate just how _difficult_ it is for most people to get a foocubus off, especially in _one round._ We're built for multiple encounters in a row. To have been outlasted by a mortal…" he said, suddenly looking a little embarrassed. "How many partners did you say you've had, again?"

Ivan chuckled, a little cockily. "You ask as though I can remember."

"Hmph. Well, enjoy this while it lasts, ya' jerk. Don't we have work tomorrow?"

"Actually, it's not that late. We could start n-"

"Like I said, tomorrow," said Alfred, flicking his tail in the direction of the clock. "Or, well, slightly later today, anyway."

It was two o'clock in the damned morning.


	2. Introduction to Witchcraft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan begins to learn the basics of magic, as well as a few other demonic secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohai, guys. I finally figured out how to add more chapters on A03. :D Should I just post 'em all at once, or one at a time as though I were starting over? Heh, well, for any returning readers from FF, nothing has changed, but I guess now it's available for re-reading...? For anyone who reads exclusively A03, well, I hope you enjoy.

Ivan nearly fell off of his bed when he woke up slightly later that same day, the body beside him taking him by surprise.  About thirty seconds passed before the memories of the previous night – and a few hours earlier, before he’d shut his eyes to try and get as much sleep as he could possibly manage in the timeframe - began to flow back to him, and he took a deep breath to steady his nerves.  A part of him had been concerned that it was all just a dream.  That he was just another lunatic doomed to have psychotic hallucinations that involved fucking a succubus to get its strength up for a murder spree.

He nudged Alfred awake, prompting the demon to roll over and whine.  “Five more minutes, Iv- master,” he corrected at the last minute.  Rather than heed his request, Ivan chose to shove him over the side, where he tumbled naked to the wooden floor below.  Leg tangled in the sheets, his shoulder was the first to hit, and he yelped with what sounded more like surprise than actual pain.  “Hey!” he cried, yanking himself free.  He indignantly flapped his wings to hoist himself to his feet, the resulting gust of air causing the furniture to shake.  “You big jerk!”

“Get up,” ordered Ivan, in a very businesslike tone.  “We’ve got to shower now if we’re going to get started with the plan by the time I head off to work.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, and floated after him as he headed out the door to the bathroom.  “Shower?  But you smell so nice as you are now!  And I thought you were an assassin, or whatever.  You’re making this gig sound like a nine-to-five sort of thing.”

Ivan opened up the bathroom door.  “I _was_ an assassin.  Didn’t I tell you?  My so-called comrades betrayed me.  After I went into hiding, I had to do something to keep some semblance of normalcy and cash flow.  As it is, I’m lucky I was able to escape with what I did.  Now get in the shower.”

“Hell no!  Do you know what water _does_ to a demon’s pores?” said Alfred, tail flicking irritably from side to side.  With a snap of his fingers, he’d bathed himself in flames, somehow succeeding in not charring the white tiles of the bathroom floor in the process.  The musky odor was replaced by a delightfully sweet aroma, with just a hint of ash in the mix.  All the grime appeared to have been burned off.  “It’s not quite as cleansing as a nice dip in magma, but it’ll do in a pinch!”

Ivan rubbed his temples with one hand, and turned the water on with the other.  “Just don’t set anything on fire.”

“Can do!  Hellfire can’t burn anything from the mortal realm!” Alfred assured him.  “Just regular fire.  Which I could use instead, but, well, yeah.”

“Good.  Now go wash my clothes, and fix what you ripped last night.  I want that bedroom to be spotless by the time I’m done, is that clear?”  He wasn’t going to play nice.  Alfred was clearly not going to take the initiative and help out without being directly ordered to.

Alfred’s smile tightened, and he muttered a few inaudible words that Ivan could only assume were curses, but he turned around and got to it all the same.  Relieved to have him out of his sight, Ivan stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed.  He didn’t even mind when he was blasted with ice-cold water, and kept the setting on that temperature so as to cool himself down.  He wasn’t sure what it was, but he felt unbelievably hot, in the most literal of ways.  Perhaps, he wondered, it was Alfred that was causing the problem.  He didn’t heat his house to the extent that he was feeling right then, so unless the demon was messing with the thermostat, it couldn’t have been that.

The foam of the shampoo dripped down his shoulders and torso to his legs and the shower floor below.  Perhaps, he considered, it had something to do with the fact that his soul was anchored in God-only-knew what corner of Hell.

 _No._   He had to stop thinking about it.  It seemed that no matter what he did, thoughts of his inevitable end continued to surface.  It was _done,_ and that was that.  There was nothing he could do to get out of it.  Best to take advantage of what he had in the meantime.  Still, there was a pang in his chest that refused to go away, and with growing horror, it began to dawn on him that at least a small part of him was very much afraid.

There was a sound like crackling flames, and a shadow appeared on the other side of the shower curtain.

“Yo, master?  You there?  How long does it take to shower, man?  It’s been a half an hour!”

Already a half an hour?  Time seemed to be passing so fast.  Why, someday soon, he would be old and frail, and his body would begin to give out on him.  He didn’t have enough time, it seemed.  He would never have enough _time._

A hand reached around the curtain.  Alfred pulled it back to check up on him, then hissed as a few stray droplets struck his hand.  “That’s freezing!  What’s wrong with you, man?  I know humans aren’t as sensitive to cold, but you’re gonna give yourself frostbite at this rate!  Do you know how hard it is to fix frostbitten limbs?”

“Is the laundry done?” Ivan interrupted.  He reached out and turned the water off.  What remained trickled down the drain.  Alfred touched his shoulder, and the droplets on his skin evaporated almost instantly.

“I put it all in the washing machine, and your underwear is whole again.  I think I deserve a reward,” purred Alfred suggestively, leaning on Ivan and licking his lips.

“I’ll feed you again after work,” sighed Ivan.  “Now come on, I need to fill you in on the preparations I want you to make before I head out.”

Alfred held his hands out as though he were holding something, and with another flicker of flame, he had a neatly-folded pile of clothes.  “I don’t care for ‘em, but I guess you can’t exactly go outside without them, right?”

Ivan laughed and began to get himself dressed.  “You’d be correct.”

Suddenly, Alfred reached out to touch his neck, and in his surprise, Ivan almost punched the idiot in the face.  “You took your scarf off.”

Had he?  Somehow, he couldn’t seem to remember doing so.  Ivan slapped Alfred’s hand away and glared down at him.  “Don’t touch my neck without permission, is that clear?”  Come to think of it, he couldn’t even remember taking it off before he went to sleep.  He hadn’t slept with it on, had he?  Perhaps it was still somewhere between the sheets.  Ivan resolved to be more careful next time; the pheromones, or magic, or whatever it was that Alfred was giving off had a way of screwing with his sense of reason.

Alfred pouted.  “But I like touching you.  It’s in my nature.”

“There are a lot of things in the nature of all kinds of people that they have to suck up and live without,” scolded Ivan, and he stepped around Alfred to get back to the bedroom.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me and my _three hours_ of sleep, I need to get my scarf and open up the document on my computer detailing the plan.  You are to view those documents while I’m out, memorize them, and recite them for me without the visual in front of you by the time I return at five o’clock tonight.  If you are capable of doing this without a hitch, you will be rewarded with another ‘snack.’  If not, you will spend the rest of the night studying.  No sex.  Do I make myself clear?”

The look on Alfred’s face could only be described as one of pure, unmitigated horror.  “B-but-”

“I said, _do I make myself clear?”_

Alfred gritted his teeth and hissed another string of what sounded like curses as he followed after Ivan, not all of them in English.  His curiosity was piqued when he heard a couple foul words in both French and Russian.

“I thought you only spoke fluently in English.”

“Yeah, but I can swear in eighty-two, and insult your mother in thirty-six.”

He was beginning to get a little less scared that Alfred was going to be the individual to end him, and more depressed that he couldn’t have at least been done in by someone with a proper head on their shoulders.

* * *

 

Ivan returned home exhausted.  While his job wasn’t exactly the most taxing, at least compared to his old one, he would never get used to handling phone calls instead of slitting throats.  It was far less, and yet infinitely more stressful.  He needed the thrill of knowing that he was outside the bounds of the law to keep focused, and many a time he nearly dozed off in the middle of it all.  That the majority of the populace got by in such frightfully boring careers would never cease to amaze him.

“Alfred!” he shouted down the hall.  He was greeted with a burst of flame so bright that he saw spots after it faded to reveal the demon he’d been looking for.  “Can’t you just walk like everyone else?”

“Hey, do you know how hard it is to teleport?  I spent years getting this thing down, and I’m gonna use it,” said Alfred, still as nude as ever.

Ivan massaged his scalp.  “Can you remember the plan?”

“See, there’s the thing.  The entire plan?  Why the fuck is it all written in French?” demanded Alfred.  “I thought you were Russian!”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ ”  Damn, he’d almost forgotten that Alfred was only fluent in one language.  “If I wrote everything in Russian, it would be immediately obvious to anyone else in this country who walked in here and looked at that file exactly what I’m up to.  Having it in a different language slightly lowers the possibility that it can immediately be understood.  I suppose I’ll have to write everything out in English now for you to study all night.”

“Actually,” said Alfred, a proud look about him, “I solved the problem myself.  Dragged my brother up here to translate.  He speaks it perfectly.”

Ivan blinked.  “Your brother?”

Alfred slapped him on the back with one wing and laughed.  “Yeah, my brother!  Didn’t I mention him before?  He’s not a foocubus like pops and I; he’s a wrath demon, but I swear you’d never know it.  It’s a shame, really.  All that power, and he uses it to make _pancakes_ , of all things.  Granted, they’re _perfect_ pancakes, but still.”  Alfred looked up at the ceiling and sighed, a little enviously.  “Raw, destructive power.  It takes me three days of nonstop sex to get what he can have just by eating pork!  So not fair!”

“I care little for your jealous ramblings; do you have the plan memorized?”

 _"Jealous?”_ said Alfred, absolutely floored.  “I am _not_ jealous!  I- Argh, yes, I have your stupid plan memorized.  It’s not THAT complicated.  A lot of it can be simplified with magic.  Not a huge fan, really; I admit that I’m into the whole ‘incinerate them all where they stand’ thing a little more, but you’re the boss.”

“I am,” said Ivan.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to rest for a bit, and you’re going to fetch the book for us to go through together to figure out how we’re going to do just that.”

Before he could take so much as a step, Alfred had it in his hands with a flash of fire.  “Need I remind you that I can’t read a single word of this?”

“Oh, I’m aware of your ineptitude,” Ivan assured him as he headed off to the kitchen table.  “When I said ‘go through it together,’ I actually meant that I would go through it while you prepared dinner.”

“Asshole,” grumbled Alfred.  He wandered off into the kitchen, leaving a trail of bad words behind him.

At last, Ivan was alone to read the book.  He would ask Alfred’s opinion later, no doubt, seeing as the demon probably had more experience with the workings of the various spells within it, but honestly, the succubus didn’t really seem like one to formulate proper plans.

_Table of Contents_

_I._ _Introduction to the Arcane_

 _II._ _A Beginner’s Guide to Hellfire_

 _III._ _Basic Pyrokinesis_

 _IV._ _Advanced Pyrokinesis_

 _V._ _Environmental Hypersensitivity_

 _VI._ _Illusions_

 _VII._ _Teleportation_

 _VIII._ _Transformation_

 _IX._ _Influencing the Mind_

 _X._ _Memory Wiping_

 _XI._ _Demonology_

He chose to get started on the second chapter.

 _Magic is powered by an essence within every demon that has come to have been known as Hellfire.  While every demon can control Hellfire to some extent, any demon allowed to form contracts has been put through rigorous training to be capable of every single feat detailed in this book.  Some may be more capable of performing many of these activities in one day, while others are much more limited.  For a general guideline to follow, see the_ Demonology _chapter, though there is much variance within each group._

Ivan made a mental note to check out the section on foocubi.

_A witch is given the ability to tap into these skills and draw on the demon’s energy at will, at the costs detailed in the first chapter.  What we do innately can be performed by the witch with various incantations and hand motions.  For a quick example, if you’ve already made the contract, open the palm of your dominant hand and point it straight out in front of you.  When you’re sure that nothing flammable is in the immediate vicinity, chant the incantation, “SOO-ra-NIN.”  When you’re done, close your hand to end the spell._

Just as the text had implied, Ivan felt his hand grow extremely hot, and a burst of flame shot several meters out of it, only dissipate as his fingers closed.  Well, if he hadn’t been convinced before, that had just about done it.  Oh, the things he could _do_ with just that alone!

_Basic pyrokinesis like that is one of the first things you’ll learn, though it’s advisable to be careful not to overdo it the first day.  As you use any of the magic in this book, the demon you’ve formed a contract with will tire and eventually weaken.  While you may think it’s a good idea to free your soul by draining them entirely at the end of your life to get out of your contract, all it will do is engulf your soul in flame and destroy it the moment they’re on the verge of death; seeing as they will eventually recover, and you will not, this is also useless as a way to ‘be even.’_

Well, there went that idea.

_While the magic in this book can be performed by the witch on their own, without aid, and you can feel completely free to use it at your leisure for whatever purposes you so desire, I highly recommend that you don’t completely forget the usefulness of having a second set of hands and eyes with you, attached to an individual incapable of betraying you until the day of your death…_

Ivan read on, and on, and on, from the history of it to the random bits of advice given by the surprisingly helpful author.  From it, he learned such important things as the various harmful symbols he could encounter – crosses, stars, and other such religious things – and that it would be best if he avoided places such as churches and religiously-affiliated graveyards.  (Places where bodies just happened to be buried with no religious affiliation were, apparently, just fine, particularly if he found himself amassing just such a location underneath his house.  The fact that it was apparently so common that it needed to be explained did not escape his notice.)

At some point, Alfred came back in with some toast and eggs that he set on the table, but he didn’t prove overly bothersome, and simply excused himself to go watch some television despite not understanding a word of it.  Ivan barely touched the food, too busy reading to think about eating.  When he was done with the second chapter, he flipped to the last one, the guide that he’d briefly glanced at the other night.

_There is a class of demon for each of the seven deadly sins.  Though most cross over all of them in some way or another, all have one particular specialty.  There are sub-classes within these groups, but the following are universal constants for each:_

_I._ _Pride (Devils)_

_Pride is the sin that leads to all the others.  These demons are rare and immensely powerful, but not quite as specialized as each of the others.  It’s usually easier for them to sustain multiple spells for an extended period of time, but they have a stubborn streak that will persist throughout the contract.  Be firm and make no concessions if you expect to get anything done.  They are bound by their contract, and cannot break it no matter what they threaten.  Devils will only accept offerings of blood, flesh, and souls._

_II._ _Envy (Imps)_

_Demons of envy are masters of the art of transformation, but are prone to being a bit grabby and may act outside the bounds of your desires if not directly ordered.  Leave no room for loopholes in your instructions.  If possible, save yourself some trouble by keeping them away from people that they may find things to be jealous about.  Imps will only accept offerings of blood, flesh, souls, and the belongings of others that catch their fancy._

_III._ _Wrath (Nightmares)_

_Wrath demons tend to operate through rapid bursts of incredible power.  Pyrokinetics can be safely practiced by the witch for extended periods of time with little fear of them running out of energy.  Wrath demons are far from appearing outwardly so, however, and most have perfected the art of performing this sin on a much subtler scale.  Tread carefully and try not to incite their anger.  If you do, allow them a way to blow off steam.  Although bound by their contract, setting them off could result in every potential loophole in your commands being exploited, possibly even resulting in your death.  Nightmares will only accept offerings of blood, flesh, and souls._

_IV._ _Sloth (Sloths)_

_Sloth demons don’t usually have a lot of power in reserve because they’ll use it so often to do the most minor of things, but they require little sustenance and build up energy quickly when it’s not constantly in use.  With a little careful cultivation, sloth demons are a force to be reckoned with, and tend to be incredibly bright when they’re not lazing about; their knack for seeing and understanding the world around them is uncanny, and they’re masters of sensation-expansion magic.  Sloths will only accept offerings of blood, flesh, and souls._

_V._ _Greed (Pucks)_

_Greed demons are, like their envious cousins, a grabby bunch.  Their illusion skills are top notch, but they’re very deceitful, and are prone to exaggerating just what it is they’ll need as an offering to perform their magic.  Still, they’re undisputed masters of erasing memories.  Pucks will only accept offerings of blood, flesh, souls, and legally recognized currency._

_VI._ _Gluttony (Gluttons)_

_Demons of gluttony are usually rather hefty, and though they don’t require large offerings, they’re capable of taking in vast quantities to build up a lot of energy much faster than the others.  Do not leave your edibles unprotected, and please request another demon immediately if your wishes involve problems with starvation or drought.  For those capable of dealing with them, this massive power storage can be a boon.  Despite their size, they have an unmatched mastery of teleportation.  Gluttons will only accept offerings of blood, flesh, souls, and various fattening foods._

_VII._ _Lust (Foocubi)_

_Demons of lust are one of the more well-known to mankind.  They tend to be a little more personable than others, and while generally attractive, it is deeply advised to be cautious during heated encounters, lest you find yourself completely drained of all energy.  They are perhaps one of the more interesting in terms of offerings, but notorious for tempting their own witches if left unchecked.  Do not allow them to get you addicted to the aphrodisiac they exude, and don’t get into the mindset that you owe them any ‘favors.’  They’re masters of influential magic, and are very useful for manipulating others.  Foocubi will only accept offerings of souls and various bodily fluids._

Before he knew it, his food had gone cold, but he forced it down his throat for the sake of sustaining himself for what he knew was probably going to be another session in bed.  Demons had to eat, too, after all.  Even ones as annoying as his.  He would have to inform Alfred that he wasn’t permitted to use that aphrodisiac of his without express permission in the future, though.  It really did a number on his sanity.  He wasn’t one to _lose_ himself like that.

“Alfred, are you in there?” called Ivan.  As he walked into the room, it became clear just how pointless it had been to ask.  Alfred was lounging on the sofa in front of the television, where a woman on the news was going on about some lunatic or another.  Alfred, paying it no heed, was leaning over the arm of the sofa and fingering himself.  “Haven’t you anything better to do with your time?”

Alfred grinned up at him and shook his head; though his face was red, it was from arousal, rather than embarrassment.  “I can’t understand anything, and I got bored.  Hey, you think you could get me one of those vibrator things?”

Ivan sighed.  “You’re quite useless, you know.”

“Aww, come on, don’t say that.  You’ve already had a taste of demonic power, haven’t you?” said Alfred, at last pulling his fingers out of himself to sit up properly.  “I could feel the energy leave me when you cast that fire spell.  Not much, mind you, but there was definitely a pull, there.”  He flipped back onto his back, legs spread.  “I wouldn’t mind a little boost to make up for it, though.”

There it was.  He immediately picked up on that feeling of desperation from the other night.  Alfred wasn’t exactly a master of subtlety, but he never would have guessed ‘magic’ if he hadn’t known that he was a succubus; he was sure that it would be useful for something or other.  Just not on him.

“You’re not to try influencing me,” said Ivan firmly.  “I prefer to have my wits about me, and you attempting to seduce me at every turn is interfering with that.  I don’t have sex for the sake of enjoying it, I use it as a means to an end in whatever I do.  If you didn’t need this to give me power, I’d have you in a chastity belt!”

Alfred appeared upset.  “What kind of a life is that?  I mean, I definitely use sex as a means to an end, myself – I sort of have to – but you talk as though enjoying it is a bad thing!  Uhg, you sound like my old pastor; you should have heard him go on about how masturbating would send me straight to Hell!”  The demon paused.  “Huh.  In hindsight, maybe he was right.”

“Hold on, your old pastor?” said Ivan.  He hadn’t thought that demons went to church.

Alfred finally closed his legs.  “Oh, that’s right, you wouldn’t know that, either.  Some of us were human, once; it happens every once in a great while, I guess.  We’re called ‘cambions.’  I used to be a…”  He paused, and spoke the next word as though it were something foul.  _“…puritan,_ back in the days when America was still a bunch of colonies full of random, God-obsessed douchebags.  Born in the late 1600s, or something, I think, maybe; I forgot.  Uhg, just thinking about it makes me want to vomit!”

Ivan had to smile a bit at the new knowledge.  Perhaps he would prod a bit more later, but he had a job to do.  Even as the aphrodisiac dissipated, he knew that he’d come to the room for a reason.  “While I’d love to hear more of this fascinating tale, you need to go up to the bedroom.  I’ll be right there.”

“You’re gonna do this right after you reminded me of the worst, most chaste days of my life?” said Alfred, an eyebrow raised.  “Dickwad.”

“That’s another thing.  You’re no longer permitted to insult me.”

Alfred opened his mouth, appearing as though he were about to say something, only to close it right after.  “I… You… ARGH!”  He disappeared in an angry blaze, and Ivan took note of the singes on his sofa.  How irritating; it seemed he was going to have to close some loopholes in his rules.  ‘No damaging property in a fit of anger,’ for one.

He took his time getting to the bedroom.  While he had to admit that it was rather immature, getting Alfred worked up was surprisingly entertaining.  He wasn’t typically a malicious person – well, he was, actually, but he was usually reasonably polite with people not on his hit list – but he’d always had a bad habit of doing or saying things simply to get a reaction out of people.  It had been one of the things some of his old companions had hated about him.

Ivan exhaled.  So his little demon familiar, or whatever he was called, had once been a human?  The implications of that were perhaps a little more far-reaching than the revelation had initially made clear.  A question took root in his mind; how did one go from what was apparently a chaste, heavily religious background to a sex-crazed, soul-consuming demon?  He couldn’t help but be a little envious, despite himself.  Perhaps Alfred had truly been a monster beyond the realms of even he himself, a soul too foul for even Hell to take down.  Somehow, though, he couldn’t really picture Alfred as being capable of anything particularly heinous.  Not because he didn’t have it in him to be malicious – he clearly had little issue with Ivan’s history of murder – but because he didn’t seem intelligent enough to pull off more than maybe one or two crimes before he was caught.

Well, he _was_ a succubus.  Perhaps his horrible sin was being the town bicycle.  But, if that were the case, then there would be an immense number of demons in modern times, where casual sex, while not exactly encouraged, no longer resulted in one getting stoned to death.  In more developed countries, anyway.

“Hey!” called a voice from the bedroom.  “Hurry up down there!  I’m bored!”

Ivan rolled his eyes and headed up the stairs.  They creaked under his feet, signaling his arrival.  When he opened the door, he was both relieved and disappointed to find that the aphrodisiac wasn’t present.

“You’re finally here,” breathed Alfred, legs so far apart that his position looked almost painful.  “I thought you’d never make it.  What took you so long?”

“I was thinking,” answered Ivan, closing the door behind him.  “You should try it sometime, little beast.”

“I really don’t understand what you have against using my name,” muttered Alfred.  “It’s not like it’s foul, or difficult to pronounce.”

“Because that takes the fun out of things,” said Ivan.  Surely Alfred would understand the joy of irritating people.  Briefly, Ivan wondered if there was a religion in which being excessively annoying was a sin; if it wasn’t, it certainly should have been.  He crawled into bed and began to strip.  “You should really wear clothes, you know.  Don’t you find it easier to seduce people when you leave things to the imagination?”

Surprisingly, Alfred nodded.  “I usually do wear clothes, when I’m gallivanting about in the mortal realm.  In my current state, though, ordinary humans can’t see me.  Only witches can see through the curtain of life, and witches-to-be who’ve just made a summoning circle.  Everyone else has to wait until they’re dead.”

Ivan began sliding his hands down to Alfred’s hips, but the conversation didn’t stop.  “Is that so?  How do you go about seducing people who can’t see you?”  The demon twitched a little as his legs were hoisted up onto Ivan’s shoulders, but in a pleased way.

Though Alfred gasped and moaned with almost every touch, he didn’t hesitate to answer.  “H-have to construct a mortal shell for people to see.  It’s easiest for cambions, since we have a body to use already.  Otherwise, it has to be done from scratch.”

Ivan teasingly prodded his entrance, much to Alfred’s distaste.  “I’d love to see that sometime…”

“You can see it now, if it’ll make you hurry up,” said Alfred.  His unmarred skin began to grow small imperfections and minor discolorations that ordinarily wouldn’t have been particularly remarkable, as well as an occasional light scar that could have been caused by any number of perfectly ordinary activities.  The hair that had felt so soft before became somewhat less so in texture, and his previously clear eyes grew to be a little less hypnotizing, and far more human.  As human as a demon’s eyes could get, anyway.  Perhaps the most notable thing was that his wings and tail were gone, but even that seemed less remarkable than he supposed it ought to have been.

“You don’t look _that_ different,” said Ivan, almost disappointed.  It was definitely not the same, but the way Alfred had been talking, he’d thought the changes would have been a bit more dramatic.

Alfred, at least, seemed amused.  “What?  You didn’t think I was a natural blonde, or something?  Geez.  If I were that ugly, I wouldn’t change when we’re just about to get busy.  Probably would have starved to death by now, too.”

Ivan gently pressed in; while he was definitely still warm, Alfred felt significantly less borderline-blister-inducing in such a state, and he wasn’t yet sure which temperature he preferred.  “Tell me about your life.  Your human life.”

For a moment, everything seemed to come to a screeching halt.  Alfred appeared more contemplative than pleasured.  “That doesn’t seem fair.  I haven’t heard anything about you, yet.”

Ivan smiled.  “There’s nothing I want to share.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll tell you what,” said Alfred, pulling him in close.  “I’ll tell you about _my_ life when you tell me about _yours._ Sound fair?”

“I could order you to talk right now, couldn’t I?”

“Mm, I guess, but that would take all of the funout of it, wouldn’t you agree?” said Alfred, a grin on his face once again.  “Besides, if you really did that to me, I might just have to start with your balls when I eat you, instead of your heart.  It’s always a pleasure to hear their screams as I devour their soul, you know…”

Ivan laughed, then snapped his hips forward.  “You know, sometimes I almost forget that you’re a monster from Hell.  I suppose I owe you a compliment.”

Alfred was too busy twisting around to answer properly.  “O- _oh!_ You got me when I wasn’t ready, you fucking jerk!  _Ah!”_

His voice had changed, too, it seemed.  It wasn’t quite as smooth and, dare he say it, borderline musical as the first time they’d had sex.  That wasn’t to say it was unpleasant, at least in Ivan’s opinion.  Just not quite as clean.

“You’re quite fidgety, aren’t you?” Ivan remarked.  “Too much for you already?  I haven’t even started moving.  You really _are_ a whore.”

“Y-yes, and proud of it!” moaned Alfred.  “Ah, insult me more!  Fuck!”

Ivan raised an eyebrow, even as he began to thrust.  “You’re into dirty talk, then?  I’d say I’m surprised, but really, I shouldn’t have expected any different.”

“If I wanted to go vanilla, I’d be fucking ordinary people, not the sexually repressed.  _Ah,_ you should really, _hn,_ try banging some priests.  They have some of the best fantasies, even if they’re not always very skilled!  _Oh,_ right there, yes!  Fuck me right there!” begged Alfred, head sunken back into the pillow below it.  The bed creaked beneath them, not at all designed for the sort of horrible abuse it was receiving.

“I’d really rather not,” said Ivan.  “I murdered a priest once, though.  Apparently he was threatening his ex-girlfriend so she wouldn’t seek child support payments.”  He took a moment to catch his breath; as it turned out, laughing and having sex at the same time was a little exhausting.  “Ah, that was a fun one!  I don’t typically enjoy the tedious process of forging wills, but it was worth it when he turned out to be positively loaded!  I was paid very well for that one…”

Alfred seemed to grow more excited as he spoke.  “Tell me, what did you do to him?  Slit his throat to let him bleed out?  Force him to eat and choke on his own eyes?”

Ivan chuckled, even as he thrust mercilessly into the succubus beneath him.  “You wouldn’t last long as an assassin, clearly.  My profession requires subtlety.  I smothered him in his sleep with a pillow, stuffed a particularly large piece of steak down his throat, and arranged the body and food so it looked like he choked to death.”

“Wow,” said Alfred sarcastically.  “That’s not boring at all.”

“It’s easy to kill people, Alfred, as I’m sure you’re aware,” said Ivan, leaning down to nip at his neck.  “But humans have to think about something that you don’t, and that’s how to do it without going to prison.”

Alfred didn’t look particularly talkative anymore.  His face was flushed, though it wasn’t _quite_ as red as it had been in his demon form.  “But we can be creative now, right?  ‘cause you have me!”  He looked as though he _wanted_ to say more, but the pleasure seemed to be distracting him.  “D-damn it, I’m not usually th-this- _hah!_ How did you get so _good_ at this?  _Mm!”_

“Don’t lie to me.  I don’t want any of your false praise.  Don’t think you can charm your way onto my good side,” panted Ivan.

“N-not k-kidd- _oh!”_

He could feel Alfred heat up and clamp down on him, as though his body were designed to squeeze all that it could from him.  Given just what he was, it wasn’t a very far-fetched notion.  It was as though every last drop was being forced out of him, coaxed into the demon as though chasing after paradise.  Ivan was hardly complaining, though; how could he, under such a blissful haze?  In those few seconds, he wondered just how even Heaven could compare to bedding a succubus.

Ivan barely realized that he was suddenly on his side, collapsed beside an equally exhausted demon.

“Wow,” Alfred managed, his voice wheezy.  The human exterior melted away, leaving behind his initial, picture-perfect appearance in its place.  “No joke; that was awesome.  I’ve been with actual incubi that aren’t even _close_ to as good at this.”  He pressed himself up against Ivan.  “Of course, you have the advantage of being human, I guess.  It’s never quite as enjoyable when I’m not getting fed.  But, I mean, wow.  I don’t know if it’s experience, size, or both, but I haven’t had sex that good in _ages.”_

Ivan, try though he did, was finding it difficult not to let all that praise go to his head.  “If you’re trying to get something from me, forget it.  You’re already eating my soul, isn’t that enough for you?”

Alfred sat up and crawled on top of him.  “I guess.  Heh, you’re a bastard, and all, but a bastard who knows how to fuck.  It’ll be a shame to lose that.  The universe will be a much duller place.”  The demon licked his cheek, and Ivan found himself too tired to push him off.  “You taste so good, though!  You know, the souls of sinners are always the best, and murder is the worst crime of all.  Every kill is like another layer of flavor.  Spicy kills of passion, and the sweet taste of revenge!”

“Quite the gourmet, are you?”

“But my favorite,” continued Alfred, “are the pre-meditated ones.  Cold, methodical kills, especially for cash.  So juicy, so _savory!”_

Ivan rolled his eyes.  “Are you certain that your sin is lust, and not gluttony?”

“Hey, I’ve _met_ a glutton before.  Total softies, the lot of them,” said Alfred.  “They can live off of almost anything, so not too many of ‘em go soul hunting.  I know one of them, total coward, that’s got this obsession with pasta.  I mean, pasta, of all things!  _Seriously?_ I guess I shouldn’t be complaining, since it just means less competition, but-”

“Hold on, competition?” inquired Ivan, finally finding it in him to push the touchy-feely demon off of him so he could sit up.  “Is it really that difficult to sustain yourselves down there?”

“I guess you could say that,” admitted Alfred.  “It depends on what you are.  Used to be that us lust demons had it the worst.  You had to be skilled in order to get by.  Folks – at least back in my home – were really difficult to seduce back then; they were way more religious, and there weren’t usually too many obvious signs as to who was the most willing to disobey their moral code.  The constant self-crossing also made a lot of them painful to the touch.  Nowadays, you can just wander into a bar in most first-world nations and find someone willing to have sex, though.  Both a blessing and a curse, really.  Now we’ve got a bad rep ‘cause a lot of younger lust demons think they’re hot shit just ‘cause they can get laid fifty times in a week.  I may not be _that_ old, but it kind of pisses me off to have demons half my age underestimating me because of a few loudmouth newbies.”

The idea that there were creatures in Hell that were even more obnoxious than Alfred was, quite frankly, a terrifying one.  “Is that so?  What of the foocubi that are even older than you?”

“Oh?  Most of them aren’t too bothered by it, really.  I’m in the minority on that one.  They’re thankful for the steady food source.  We’re a proud bunch, as any demons are, but because of what we do, it’s not usually a defining part of us, especially when humans like you break out the handcuffs.”  Alfred licked his lips and wrapped an arm around Ivan’s shoulder.  “Most of the older demons don’t actually take part in all that judging, though.  It’s usually the younger ones.  Just last month, some stupid hatchling of a wrath demon thought he could get away with calling me a useless cum-drinker, so I buried him in a pile of rubble, yanked him out, broke every bone in his body that hadn’t already been shattered by the falling brimstone, forced him to give me his address by way of merciless interrogation, and ate every soul in his hoard.  Haven’t been messed with since!”

Ivan just stared at him, not sure whether to be impressed, or disturbed.  “That seems a tad bit like overkill, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, duh.  It’s Hell; there aren’t any rules or regulations to protect you.  If you’re weak, you either convince someone strong to take you in, or you wither away and starve to death.  If you’re strong, you let everyone know it in whatever way you can whenever it seems like they’re starting to forget, or you’ll lose everything you have,” explained Alfred.  “I mean, there are a _few_ constants.  Souls are precious.  Any demon can eat them for sustenance, and the humans they belong to can be useful, too.  Typically, they’re either bartered, eaten, and hoarded, but they can also be stolen away.  You’ve got three types of demons, see.  Those who choose not to deal with souls at all, those who eat as they go with only a couple on hand at any time, and those who hoard.”

“Which are you?”

“The second one,” said Alfred, grinning as he always did.  “Serious hoarders tend to invite trouble, but the status that comes with building up a significant one and keeping it successfully is incredible.  Only the most powerful of demons tend to amass really big hoards.  I’ve been thinking about getting in on the action for years, but I don’t have very good self-control.  Every time I get around to starting one, I eat all my souls before the day is up.”

“Oh, woe is you.  Truly, your life is just one tragedy after another.”

Alfred stuck his tongue out him.  “You know, you’re…”  He thought his words over carefully, the rule against insulting Ivan clearly fresh in his mind.  “You’re really sarcastic.”

“And you’re a nuisance.  Now come along, we’ve got work to do.”

“Ooh!  Ooh!  Does it involve video cameras?” said Alfred, eagerly bouncing up and down on the bed, wings stretched and flapping to help lift himself up.  “Those are _the_ best invention _ever,_ by the way.  You know, one of my buddies makes a living doing internet porn.  I prefer the contract gig, myself, just because I find it more interesting, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about-”

 _“No,_ Alfred, the plan does _not_ involve video cameras.”

“What about vibrators?”

Ivan grabbed his wallet off of the bedside table, and waved it in front of Alfred’s face.  “I’ll tell you what.  If you promise to behave yourself without forcing me to jump through hoops to patch the loopholes in my rules, I’ll get you a vibrator.  Does that sound fair?”

Alfred jumped up onto his shoulders, as though expecting a piggy-back ride.  “Only if you take me with you to work tomorrow!”

Ivan simply stared at him.  “Why on Earth would you want to go with me?  If you’re trying to have sex with me in my office, think again, because I’m not that dumb.”

“It’s not that,” whined Alfred.  “I don’t have anything to do in this place.  Everything is in Russian.  I’d go out and about, like I do when I’m off-duty, but I wouldn’t even be able to order a hamburger!  Heck, I might have even gone home for a bit, or at least to another place that speaks English, but teleporting is only good for a couple miles, at most.  By the time I got halfway to America, I’d have to come back here.  That, and I’d be exhausted from all the teleporting.  Point is, I’m bored as fuck, and at least if I’m with you I have someone who understands me.  There are only so many positions to masturbate in before it starts to get dull.  Even for a succubus.”

Ivan exhaled, and weighed his options.  So long as Alfred wasn’t trying to get him to do anything stupid at work, it would be a nice change of pace to have someone to talk to.  Well, so long as he kept his voice down, anyway.  His – admittedly mostly forged – resume had earned him an office of his own, albeit one that was only slightly bigger than a large closet.  He wouldn’t have to worry _too_ much about his performance with a demon on his side, right?

“Very well, you can come with me,” said Ivan.  “But you have to promise not to misbehave.  No harassing me, and no harassing my colleagues!”  Except maybe Dmitri.  “Unless I say so.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” said Alfred, saluting him from the air, where he was hovering upside-down, wings appearing more like décor than actual objects of flight.  “So, what was it that we were gonna do today?  According to the documents, the first big murder for us to interrupt is next week.”

Ivan stretched and opened his hand.  “We’re going to practice some magic, of course.  Or, rather, _I’m_ going to practice, and you’re going to aid me in this endeavor.”

Alfred immediately brightened up, wings flapping gleefully.  “You mean I’m gonna be your teacher?  _Sweet!_ I’ve never taught anyone anything before!  I mean, can you _believe_ that all my previous contracts would rather figure it out for themselves than ask me?”

“Yes.”

The demon deflated like a balloon.  “You know, every time you start to get a little nicer, all of a sudden you turn back into a jerk.  I’m a demon, and _I’m_ calling you out on your behavior.  That _has_ to count for something.”

“What?” asked Ivan, using a mockingly innocent voice very much like the one Alfred had used in the past.  “You asked a question.  I answered it honestly.”

As he pulled his shirt over his head, he found his back whacked by the hard bone of Alfred’s wing.  “Believe it or not, any demon with a license to form contracts with humans has to take a test to make sure we can perform each and every spell in that book without a problem; if we can’t, then humans can’t use them.  I know what I’m doing; I learned from the fucking author.”

“You mean that Arthur person?” said Ivan, wondering whether or not to ban Alfred from hurting him.

“That’d be him,” said Alfred, slipping around Ivan’s back quick as a flash to hitch a ride on his shoulders.  “Artie’s a total stick-in-the-mud.  Like you!  But he definitely knows his stuff.  Not even I can argue with that.  And let me tell you, I argue with _everything.”_

“I noticed,” said Ivan.  He barely reacted to having to deal with carrying Alfred.  The succubus was still half-floating, so he wasn’t being burdened by his full weight.  That, and Alfred wasn’t all that heavy to begin with.  Perhaps souls just weren’t very high in calories.

“But anyway, I know this shit like the back of my hand,” said Alfred, not looking at all pleased.  As a demonstration, he reached down and slid the back of his hand across Ivan’s cheek, his skin heated up just enough to cause discomfort without being painful.  “Now, let’s go do some magic!  Of course, I’m going to be pretty tired after all of this, so-”

Ivan lifted his arms up under Alfred’s legs and pushed them upwards, throwing Alfred off of his shoulders.  “Yes, Alfred, we can have sex after we’re done.  Does that make you happy?”

“Very!”


	3. The Teacher From Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan continues his magical studies with Alfred as his easily-distracted guide, and later enlists his help in cleaning up his workplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding the next next two chapters today. The actual new one will be up on Sunday.

Magic, as it turned out, wasn’t exactly difficult to _perform,_ so long as one had the book to do it with.  It was studying the motions and words that was difficult.

“Incantations for fire are pretty simple,” Alfred explained.  “You’ve got the starting location, the fire itself, and the end location.  ‘Soo-ra-nin,’ the one you did back there, is pretty versatile in and of itself.  You’ve got ‘soo,’ or ‘from the dominant palm,’ ‘ra,’ which is ‘fire,’ and ‘nin,’ which is ‘straight ahead.’ ”

Ivan flipped through the book still sitting on the desk in the basement, the only place unlikely to catch fire.  “What language is this?”

“Only the really old demons like Artie know who wrote it, and they don’t tell us,” said Alfred, shrugging.  “But it was created specifically for magic.  There’s nothing like ‘hello,’ ‘sorry,’ or ‘goodbye’ in it.  Just things, places, and times.  I guess you could say it’s sort of like a programming language?  You plug words in, and shit happens?”

_“You_ don’t use the words when you use magic.”

“Demons don’t have to; it’s just a skill like any other, although not all of us bother learning more than the basics,” answered Alfred.  “The incantations just let humans hooked up to a demon’s power access it.  If you’re a lamp with a plug, I’m like the electrical outlet!”  His eyes widened, then narrowed again as a blush spread across his face.  “Aww, man, now you’ve got me thinking about holes and penetration, and _argh,_ are you sure we can’t have a quickie?”

Ivan was too busy reading to care that Alfred had begun to finger himself at a furious pace.  Most of the second chapter was dedicated to a miniature dictionary of terms, though it was accompanied by some explanatory material similar to what Alfred had provided.  He opened up the palm of his non-dominant hand.  “See-ra-nin.”  Sure enough, fire shot forth, until he closed it once more.  “Why does closing my hand cause it to- Alfred!” he scolded, and at last the succubus looked at him.

“Spells are done with your hands open, even if the starting location has nothing to do with them.  Closing them will always end the spell.  If you’ll notice, you don’t have an end time in either of the spells you used, so they’ll keep going forever until your hands close.  If you add a certain number of seconds to the beginning, though…”  At that point, Alfred appeared to lose focus, hovering upside-down as though it would help him get his fingers in deeper.  “Oooh…”

Ivan flipped through the dictionary and opened his hand again.  “Fy-see-ra-nin.”  The flame remained for exactly six seconds, then dissipated, even as his hand remained open.  “A lot of concepts are compounded into one-syllable words.”  He touched his finger to the word ‘seconds’ in the dictionary, and the ink on the page shifted, until the entire thing was taken up by the words for any number of seconds.  “What…?”

“Use your finger to scroll up and down,” said Alfred, who’d gone from masturbating to idly spinning around in the air.  “Uhg, getting dizzy!”

“I don’t quite understand.”

“It words like a touch screen!  Haven’t you ever used one of those before?”

Ivan paused.  “Hold on, if you have the power to do it that way, why isn’t the whole entire book a one-page touch screen?”

“Because _‘The Book of Hell’_ is a much more believable title than _‘The Tablet of Hell.’_ No sarcasm, there; people are just more inclined to buy the whole ‘magic’ thing when it’s a huge-ass book,” answered Alfred.  He floated over to look over Ivan’s shoulder.  “Admit it, you totally wouldn’t have picked that thing up if that creepy cover were actually just a creepy picture on an electronic device.”

Ivan took a moment to think about that.  It _would_ have seemed a bit sillier.  “Maybe.  The whole reason I showed up at all was because of a dream.”

“You mean Artie actually went through with the dream advertisements?” asked Alfred, finally landing on his own two feet on the floor.  “Man, we used to just leave those things in the backs of libraries, all covered in spider webs, and shit.  _I_ told him we should set up a website, but _noooooo,_ that’s not spooky enough, apparently.  Technophobe.”

Ivan looked questioningly at Alfred.  “I think your friend Arthur had a point.  Do you know how many fake magic books can be found on the internet?”

“Yeah, but ours is _real!”_

Ivan shook his head and went back to reading.  “Oh, Alfred…”

“That’s the same exact thing Arthur said!  Is there a reference I’m not getting, here?” grumbled Alfred.  “Hey, don’t you ignore me!  Hey!  _Hey!”_

* * *

 

The night passed without much fanfare, unless one counted Alfred’s needy moans in bed.  Ivan was feeling quite content for the first time in ages.  He’d always been good at memorizing things, from plans, to patterns, to languages.  The magic in the book had almost no grammatical structure to speak of, removing about half the difficulty in one fell swoop.

Alfred was a bit too touchy-feely in his sleep for Ivan’s liking, but it wasn’t to the point of rendering him unable to get any rest.  Really, he ordinarily wouldn’t have minded; Alfred was like an electric blanket, warm to the touch.  Right then, though?  He could hardly stand to sleep with a _regular_ blanket covering him.  It was as though the sun itself was making a concentrated effort to raze him from the ground.  He could feel the sweat pooling in every nook and cranny of his body, even as the temperature plummeted.  He’d all but turned the heat off, and it was the middle of winter, so it was either illness, or something to do with the whole ‘selling his soul to a demon’ thing.

Even that seemed odd, though, as Alfred was clearly noticing the dropping temperature, himself, even in his sleep.  He was curled up under the blanket, limbs packed tightly together to conserve heat, and occasionally reaching out or rolling over to get closer to Ivan.  One of the demon’s hands touched his, and Ivan immediately yanked himself away from the scorching heat.  It was a struggle, but he managed to drift in and out of sleep throughout the night.

It was a good thing he had work the next morning, or he never would have forgiven Alfred for waking him up so suddenly.

_"FUCK!”_ groaned Alfred.  “What the fuck?  It’s _freezing_ in here!”

Slowly, Ivan lifted his head off of the pillow.  “Is it?  I hadn’t noticed.”

The uncomfortable part was, he truly hadn’t.

“Fucking _fuck._ Look, I don’t know how it is in this country, but back where I usually make contracts, people usually keep their houses at _least_ sixty degrees Fahrenheit.  This is ridiculous!” ranted Alfred, and Ivan couldn’t help but chuckle as he hunched over and blew fire into his palms in an effort to warm himself.

“I’m being quite serious, you know,” said Ivan, gradually managing to get into a sitting position.  “I can’t feel it.  Not since you came along.  I’ve been sweating through the night.”

A sense of relief came over him as a look of understanding dawned on Alfred’s face.  “Oh!  Why didn’t you say something?  You must have had a bad reaction to the connection.  It happens sometimes, especially in colder places.  I’ve seen it a couple times in the northern United States, and my bro says it’s pretty common in Canada, too.”  Alfred blushed, looking a bit embarrassed.  “I should have picked up on it the other day when you took that ice shower.”

Ivan wiped the fluid from his brow.  “I don’t suppose you can fix it?”

“I can try, but it’s probably best if I can get my brother,” answered Alfred sheepishly.  “He’s better at that sort of thing, having more experience, and all.  I’m not really good at fine-tuning.  It’s okay, though!  He’s taking a break from contracts for a while thanks to some incident with a broomstick and a plastic skeleton, or whatever, so I should be able to get him!  Hold on a sec!”

Before Ivan could say a word, Alfred had vanished in a puff of flame, thankfully leaving the sheets unharmed.  For a moment, he sat still on the bed, waiting for him to return.

When it became obvious that Alfred was going to take some time, Ivan spent the next few minutes dressing himself and going over his face with a razor in the bathroom to rid himself of the stubble that had accumulated during the past few days.  With those issues taken care of, and his perpetual state of discomfort apparently a thing of the past, all that mattered was getting his belongings together to go to a job he absolutely hated.  He hadn’t realized just how much he loved seeing the light leave the eyes of his victims until it was all gone, and he was stuck answering emails and angry phone calls.

Eventually, as he sat in the kitchen, Alfred returned, and he wasn’t alone.

“Yo!  Ivan, I brought him with me!”

“Honestly, Alfred, you should be able to do this yourself by now,” said the new arrival in an exasperated voice.  “I _know_ you can.  You’re just lazy!”

The new figure bore an uncanny resemblance to his brother.  They were of the same height, with the same face.  Still, for all their resemblance, he could tell right away that the new demon wasn’t a succubus like his brother.  He was attractive, no doubt, but he didn’t have the same way of drawing people in against their will.  A wrath demon, was he?  There wasn’t anything about him that struck Ivan as particularly menacing.

Alfred rolled his eyes and scoffed.  “Matthew, this is Ivan, my current witch.  Ivan, this is Matthew, my identical-but-not-quite-as-hot-as-me twin brother.”

The one called Matthew glared at him, and responded in a soft, but firm voice.  “At least I didn’t try sleeping with a moose.”

“That happened _one time,_ damn it!  And it was _your_ fault!”

Ivan couldn’t help but be intrigued at that point.  “You did _what_ with a moose?”

Alfred immediately began to babble about other things in a meager attempt to change the topic of conversation, but Matthew grinned deviously.  “He was being extra annoying one day a long time ago, when we were still learning magic.  I was ahead of him in my studies, so I teleported him into the middle of some Canadian wilderness.  It wasn’t that far from civilization, but he panicked and thought I was going to leave him there until he starved to death…”

By that point, Alfred was covering his ears and childishly shouting, _“LALALALALA,_ I can’t HEAR you!”

“…so he used what he knew to seduce a moose in an effort to sustain himself,” finished Matthew.  “It was pretty funny to watch, really.”

“I _thought_ you’d left me to _die!”_ huffed Alfred.  “Damn it, I can’t believe you!  You’re here to help me, not be a dick!”

“Think about that next time you wake me up with a kick to the crotch.”

“Oh, come on, it was hardly a _kick._ I barely-”      

“Ahem,” interrupted Ivan, still dripping with sweat.  “Amusing as it is to watch you two bicker, I believe there are some problems that need to be addressed?”

“Right, of course,” said Matthew, his tone becoming more businesslike as he pressed a hand against Ivan’s forehead.  “My apologies.  My brother could have done this himself, but it’s a bit exhausting, and he’s about as motivated as a sloth.”

_“Hey!_ I’d do it if I could!  I’m just not good at it!  Last time I tried, I ended up setting my witch on fire!”

Ivan’s eyes flickered back to Matthew, suddenly a bit uneasy.

“Only because you rushed it.”

“Yeah, well, shut up!  I could still kick your ass in a fight!”

As the excessive heat began to drain away through Matthew’s touch, he suddenly looked a bit concerned.  “Come on, Alfred, you know we’re not supposed to fight.”

“Whatever,” muttered Alfred, taking a seat in the air and crossing his arms over his chest.  “You owe me for being a jerk.”

“You owe me for dragging me up here.  I think we’re even,” answered Matthew, and he took his hand from Ivan’s forehead.  “There you go.  All fixed.  You should be able to feel cold again.  Try not to eat anything too hot for the next twenty-four hours to make sure it doesn’t come back.”  He looked away from Alfred.  “I’m going to have to recommend you hold off on sex for a day or two, too.”

_“FUCK!”_ a certain demon swore in the background.

Matthew rolled his eyes and continued to look at Ivan.  “I trust he hasn’t been _too_ forward?”

“A little, but I’m managing,” said Ivan with a chuckle.  “I’ve dealt with worse than him in the past.”

“I’m right here, guys!” said Alfred angrily.  “You can _go_ now, Matthew!”

“Yeah, yeah.  I’ll be sure to tell Arthur and Francis that you’re eating well,” teased Matthew, who vanished in a flash of fire just as Alfred leapt at him, looking very much like he was about to claw his brother’s eyes out.

“Aww, man, he’s such a jerk sometimes!” said Alfred.  “I mean, I DID wake him up with a kick to the crotch, but he should know to wear a jock strap to bed by now!”

Ivan snapped his legs tightly together and waddled back and away from him.  “You’re not going to be waking me up like that, or you’ll be missing out on a lot more than two days.”

“Come on, Ivan!” said Alfred, sliding up beside him to hold his arm.  “I wouldn’t dare harm equipment as nice as yours.”

“Mmhmm.  Whatever you say, Alfred.”  He was definitely going to have to buy something to keep that region safe.

“Sooooooo, I know he said we can’t have _sex_ for two days, but what about blowjobs?”

“I have to go to work, Alfred!” snapped Ivan, and only then did it occur to him to look at the time.  _“Shit!”_

Alfred appeared disappointed.  “Well, I’ll be waiting in the car if you need me!  Have fun!”

“Don’t you da-” began Ivan, but Alfred had already vanished.

He resolved to purchase a chastity belt in the near future.

* * *

 

He hurried out the door, the freshly-fallen snow crunching under his shoes.  Odd as it was, he was rather relieved to feel the cold again, the familiar nip of winter a welcome replacement to the scorching heat from before.  Unfortunately, his driveway was an absolute mess that would have to be shoveled at some point, unless Alfred could somehow melt it all without setting his house on fire.

The demon in question was sitting on the passenger side with his feet up on the dashboard, and thankfully, his hands were in full view, crossed over his chest rather than playing with himself.  Alfred greeted him with a cheeky grin as he opened the door and turned the keys.

“Man, there’s snow all over the place!  Hey, can I make a snowman in your yard later?”

“If it will keep you sated, you may do so in the back,” answered Ivan curtly, still irritated with him.  He turned around to back out of the driveway, pushing one of Alfred’s wings out of the way for the sake of visibility.  “Keep those tucked behind you, would you?”

Alfred took his feet down at last, and flames spread across his skin.  As they dissipated, proper winter attire appeared where there had once been nothing but bare skin, and there was a bulge in the back of his blue coat where his wings were tucked away.  “Would it kill you to say please?”  He pulled up his hood, lined with a tacky white fur trim.

“Yes.”

“What if you said it in Russian instead?  Would it still kill you?”

“Yes.”

“What about-”

Ivan put the vehicle back into park, and grasped Alfred firmly by the shoulders.  “Alfred,” he said, in as gentle a tone as he possibly could, considering the circumstances.  “I know this might come as a shock to you, but I truly, _honestly_ hate my current job, and I don’t need you to aggravate me further while I try to arrive on time, _before_ that prickDmitri finds an excuse to harass me.”

When he released his shoulders and went back to backing out onto the road, Alfred opened his mouth to answer, and for once, it wasn’t for the sake of childishly bothering him.  “Who’s Dmitri?  Your boss?”

“A coworker, though he certainly likes to think he’s in charge,” said Ivan.

Alfred buckled up his seatbelt, though Ivan couldn’t understand why an immortal creature would bother with such things.

“Oh, man, I hate those kinds of people!” agreed Alfred.  “There’s this one total jerk down in Hell – I’ll have to introduce you when you die – that I owe a couple of souls to, and he acts like he owns me.  Or, well, he would if I let him, anyway.  Alfred Jones belongs to no demon!”  He laughed, only to rub Ivan’s arm while he drove.  “Maybe a person, though.”

Ivan slapped his hand away before he could reach any lower.  “No handjobs while I’m driving.”  Before Alfred could open his mouth again, he added, “No blowjobs, either.  Or sex.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” said Alfred, shrugging it off.  “Worth a shot.”  The car shook.  “This is a really shitty road.”

“Unless you feel like re-paving, shut up.”

“I need to talk, or I go crazy.  Seriously, you don’t know what it’s like, only being allowed to talk to one person at a time!” Alfred complained.  “Even when I’m in a place that speaks English, they won’t let me go gallivanting around with other people.”  Ivan could only assume that the ‘they’ in question were Alfred’s past witches.  “You’d be surprised just how possessive some people get.”  The demon frowned and looked out the window.  “I mean, they want me by their side at _all times._   It’s amazing how many people seem to forget how they lived _before_ they sold their soul.  Like they’re afraid they’ll suddenly need me for something if I’m gone for five minutes.”

Ivan exhaled, unwilling to admit to himself that he could see how that would drive one a little stir crazy.  “I don’t mind you talking.  Just don’t talk specifically to annoy me.  I wouldn’t get so cross with you if you were willing to have actual conversations with me, rather than pushing my buttons like an attention-starved child.  Okay?”

Alfred looked thoughtful for a long moment.  “I guess that’s fair.  No promises, though.”

“Good.  I’m glad we’ve got that all straightened out, then.”

“So, what exactly do you do for a living, anyway?” asked Alfred, leaning back in the seat and crossing one leg over the other.  “Now that you’re not killing people, anyway.” 

Though he was clearly making an effort to be casual, Ivan couldn’t help but notice that one of Alfred’s hands was still on his lap.  He was quickly getting used to Alfred’s touchy-feely nature, though it was still a bit distracting.  “You know, if people could see you, you might find yourself in prison for hooliganism.”

“Since when does a cold-blooded killer care about the law?  Especially stupid ones,” laughed Alfred.  “Now come on, answer the question.  Or is it too embarrassing to admit just how far you’ve fallen?”

Ivan rolled his eyes.  “I’m a cog in the corporate machine.  I manage a group of the laziest people I’ve ever had the misfortune to know, and yet I’m forced to handle their payroll anyway.  I crunch numbers in a tiny little office, and I’m hated by all.  My hours are long and tedious, and the pay isn’t nearly as good as what I used to earn slitting throats.  What more is there to say?”

“You’re not a very positive person.”

“I wasn’t always like this,” admitted Ivan.  “This lot in life is just a bit draining for someone like me.  I miss the excitement.”  He couldn’t take the monotony of an ordinary existence.  It was enough to drive him back to the bottle.  “Now every day is the same tired routine, and the only excitement I get is when something bad happens to Dmitri at work.”

“There you go again, with this Di-dmah-argh, this Dimitri guy again,” said Alfred, stumbling through his pronunciation.  “He can’t be that bad.  I think you’re overstating it.”

Ivan shook his head, eyes never leaving the road.  “No.  No, he’s horrible.  Someday, when this is all over, I’m going to track him down and strangle him with his own intestines.”

Alfred immediately perked up.  “I did that to a priest, once!  Oh, man, you should have been there!  It was _hilarious!_ ‘No!  Oh, God, why have you forsaken me?  Please!  Pleeeeeeease!  Save me!  Save my stupid ass!’ ” said the demon in a mocking tone.  “Okay, well, maybe I’m paraphrasing a bit, but you get the idea.”

The car eased to a stop at a turn, and he continued on.  “You seem to have this bizarre obsession with the torment of priests.”

Alfred withdrew his hand, and his voice immediately took on a defensive tone.  “I’m a fucking demon, what did you expect?  All evil and shit, taking down all that’s holy and righteous.  It’s what we do.”

“Even so, surely you’ve tortured other people.  A priest _ess,_ perhaps, or a nun.  Maybe a monk.”

“Maybe I just didn’t feel like it!” snapped Alfred.  “Get off of my back!  What the hell does it matter?”

Ivan glanced over towards him.  “…I suppose it doesn’t.  I just thought it was a little strange.”

“Yeah, well, your _face_ is strange.”

“You’re _how_ old, and that’s the bestinsult that you could come up with?”

Out of what seemed to be nowhere, a car zoomed out in front of them, cutting off Ivan, and he swore under his breath as he was forced to slam his foot down on the break.  He had somewhere to be, and he wasn’t about to let some other idiot get in his way.

Alfred watched in what seemed to be great fascination as Ivan sped back up and swerved around them.  “Are you even allowed to pass on this road?  I mean, I don’t drive, I fly, and I don’t know if the laws here are different than back home, but this doesn’t look like a place where that would be safe.”

“Oh, really?  Well, driving out in front of me like some sort of maniac wasn’t very safe, either,” answered Ivan simply as someone on the other side of the road that he almost nicked shouted obscenities out the window.  “So, Alfred, I need to lay down some rules for when we arrive.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“First of all, you don’t try to seduce me while we’re there.”

“Okay, fair enough.”

“You don’t bother me or my coworkers without permission.”

“Without _permission?_   I like where this is going, go on.”

“You will not do anything that could cost me my job.”

“Damn, I hate it when you people close up loopholes.  Next?”

Ivan gave the matter some more thought; if he were Alfred, what mischief would he be able to cause without breaking those rules?  “You will not damage any property.”

“Does ‘accidentally’ dropping important documents in the paper shredder count?”

“Yes.”

“Aww, man!  What am I supposed to do for entertainment?” asked Alfred, clearly running low on ideas.

“How am I supposed to know?  You were the one who wanted to come with me to work,” Ivan pointed out, but, feeling somewhat merciful, he added, “If you simply must be entertained, I can give you some paper and some pencils to draw with.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow.  “What do you take me for?  Some sort of a little kid?”

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

“…Fine, whatever, fair enough, I guess.”

* * *

 

Email.

Read.

Reply.

Send.

Numbers.

Math.

Research.

Math.

Email.

Compose.

Send.

Email.

Read.

Delete.

It was driving him crazy, he knew.  Well, crazier than he knew he had to be in order to calmly saw someone’s head off, or stab them to death through the eyes.  There was ‘achieve happiness via the deaths of other people’ crazy, and then there was just plain _crazy._ The first one was okay, but the latter?  Not so much.

“Man, you’re a complainer if there ever was one,” laughed Alfred, leaning over his shoulder.  “You’ve got your own office, a job that doesn’t involve manual labor, and decent pay.  Here I thought you’d be like my last witch.  He was working three jobs at minimum wage to keep up with his child support payments.  I don’t think ‘down time’ was even in his vocabulary until he met me.  You?  ‘Oh, it’s boring!’  Don’t get me wrong.  I totally understand why you hate crunching numbers.  I hate it, too.  But man, you don’t really understand relativity, do you?”  Alfred paused.  “How _did_ you get a job here, anyway?  I doubt you had the qualifications.”

“Alfred, I’m an assassin,” scoffed Ivan softly, and for once, he was relieved to have Alfred’s irritating voice distracting him.  “If I couldn’t forge paperwork by now, I’d be in prison.”  It was a good thing there weren’t any bugs or cameras in there.  He’d checked upon arrival, just to make sure.  Still, it was a bad idea to be tossing such things around lightly, even if it _was_ in English; knowing his luck, the next person to come by would have relatives in Britain, or have some other reason for having it down.

Alfred was clearly resisting the urge to just fall over his lap as he leaned a little closer.  “But you still have to fake references, and have the necessary skill sets.”

“I learned plenty about computers during my previous job.  I can perform the given task quite admirably,” answered Ivan.  “As for references, I-”

The door swung open, and he immediately shut up.  Alfred jumped out of the way to avoid getting hit, and hovered in the air so as to minimize his interaction with the objects in the room.  At that point, though, it hardly mattered.  The demon’s presence was almost unrecognizable compared to the unholy abomination that crept into his office right then.

It was _him._

“Good morning, Dmitri,” greeted Ivan, a tight and somewhat eerie smile on his face.  “It’s a pleasure to see you today.”

“A pleasure to see you, too, Ivan!” said Dmitri, and there was a rather forced bounce in his voice.  “I was just checking in on you to make sure you were alright!  I heard voices coming from in here, and all, you see, so I was wondering if maybe someone had broken into your office!  Because I know _you,_ of all people, wouldn’t be on your phone while you’re trying to work!”

Alfred was sitting idly in the corner, watching the conversation with wide, uncertain eyes.  Ivan almost envied him, completely unable to understand a word that left Dmitri’s mouth.  It seemed he alone was fated to be surrounded by ignorance and idiocy.

“Of course not, Dmitri.  I’m pleased that you have such faith in my abilities, and that you would so valiantly come to my rescue were I being attacked by one so desperate for money that they would climb to a third-story window and attempt to apprehend someone of my height and build.  Clearly, such a person would be so loaded up with drugs that I would require outside assistance.”

“Well, I try,” chuckled Dmitri, and though he was several centimeters shorter than Alfred (who was, in turn, shorter than Ivan), he wasn’t about to stop trying to tower over Ivan, fruitless an effort though it was.  “So, ah, if it wasn’t a break-in, what was it, then?  It didn’t sound like Russian.  I certainly didn’t know we had clients from other countries.”

“If you must know,” said Ivan, getting to his feet.  “It was indeed not Russian.  I was talking to myself in English as I worked to get some practice in for a future vacation.  My phone is off,” and at that point he took out his phone just to illustrate that point, “and _you,_ my friend, can rest assured that your venture into my office was a complete waste of not only my time, but yours.  Unless, of course, you have something more important to talk about?”

Dmitri wasn’t disheartened.  Annoying though he was, Ivan would give him credit where it was due.  He was one of the few people capable of looking him in the eyes without faltering.  Of course, perhaps that was because of his ignorance to his true nature.  Surely if he knew, he would cower on his knees, begging not to have a bullet lodged in his stupid skull.

Oh, what a lovely mental image…

“Well, that’s all well and good, then!” said Dmitri, smiling that horrible smile.  Actually, when Ivan thought about it, it was very similar to Alfred’s.  Perhaps that was why the demon’s grin irritated him so much.  “Have a great day, Ivan!”

“You too, Dmitri.”

As he left, the atmosphere in the room calmed down, and Ivan sat back down to resume where he’d left off.

“Who was that?” asked Alfred.

“Dmitri.”

“Really?” said Alfred, sounding surprised.  “He sounded nice.”

Ivan did a double-take and spun around in his chair.  “Sounded nice?  Even if you couldn’t understand a word that was being said, you can’t honestly tell me that our conversation came off as normal to you.  Didn’t you read the atmosphere?”

“Oh, oh!  This, again?  Man, _everyone_ tells me to read that book,” said Alfred, sitting upside-down on the ceiling, his winter coat still on, and the hood hanging down.  “I can’t ever find it in the library, though!  You’d think something with such a widespread following and in-joke culture would be easier to find.  Or maybe that’s the joke.  Hmm…”

Ivan closed his eyes, pressed his fingers to his temples, and took a deep breath.  Well, at least he had a distraction.  Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why he was clinging to his position in such a manner when he could have easily used Alfred to support himself, or otherwise simply make money in a less honest way.  While petty theft wasn’t the most exciting of crimes – at least, if you wanted to do it intelligently, rather than commit something as blatant as armed robbery – it would certainly be more interesting than what apparently qualified as the norm.

He couldn’t quite explain his love of such abominable pleasures as the death of another.  _Was_ it simple boredom?  Or was there something more?  There was always an emptiness, it seemed.  He’d seen enough experts and tried enough pills to know that it wasn’t something that could be solved through the most preferable of means.  No, there was only one way to find relief.

In the split second before their souls left the mortal plane, he could feel it.  Staring into their faces, he understood what it meant to be whole.  To be _normal._ As though, in killing them, he could steal that feeling away for just one short moment.

But, like an orgasm – and his choice of metaphor had him concerned that Alfred was starting to rub off on him – it always faded away shortly after, leaving him reasonably satisfied, but desperate for his next fix.  A new high.  Oh, sure, he’d tried to find other outlets, but drugs couldn’t even come close to matching the sensation, and – selfish though it was – he was much more inclined towards harming others for satisfaction than doing permanent damage to his own body.

“Hey, Ivan!” said Alfred, a mischievous smile on his face.  Thankfully, that one looked much less like Dmitri’s unpleasantly pleasant one.  “I have an idea.”

“Does it involve sex?”

“No!  Yes.  Kind of.  But you’ll like it, I promise!” Alfred assured him.

Though it went against his better judgment, Ivan lent him an ear.  His demeanor changed quickly as the plan was divulged.  So much so, in fact, that by the time Alfred was through, he was feeling truly excited for the first time in months.

“Well?  What do you think?” asked Alfred, his coat burning away and revealing a brown jacket – with a black fur trim, an apparent fetish of his – underneath.

Ivan thought for a moment.  Did he _really_ hate Dmitri?  Or was it just a childish feud?

The door burst open.

“Ivan!  I heard voices again, and I swear, it sounded an AWFUL lot like you were _talking_ to somebody…”

Ooooooh, yes.  He _definitely_ hated Dmitri.

* * *

 

Things were looking up, in Dmitri’s opinion.  He wasn’t an expert on such things, by any means, but the boss’ favorite and the next-in-line for that oh-so-sweet promotion was only human.  He was bound to slip up at some point or another, and when he did, they would have no choice but to fire him and replace him with someone else!  Well, okay, maybe not FIRE him, but if he could get enough points racked up against Ivan, then he was hoping the purple-eyed, oddly-haired freak would be passed over in favor of him.

Still, Ivan was clearly getting suspicious, with all the impromptu visits, and all.  Perhaps, Dmitri considered, it would be best to install a few cameras in his office?  Then he would have video proof of his slacking!  It was a perfect plan, and he gave himself a mental pat on the back as he strolled down the hall.

His plans were cut short as a strange, unintelligible whisper sounded in his ear.

_“Hey there, Di…dya…dimitri.”_

He couldn’t quite place the language – he’d never been particularly good with them – but he recognized something that sounded sort of like his name, and the voice saying it sounded positively erotic.  Hot breath lingered on his cheek, and he jumped and turned around to see who it was.

The hall behind him was empty.

“Hello?” he called, but no one answered.  Probably just his imagination.  Dmitri turned back around and continued on his merry way.

_“Don’t ignore me, baby.  I know you want me.”_

There it was again.  He turned around once more, but not a soul was in sight!  Damn, he was really beginning to freak out.  It suddenly occurred to him that he couldn’t even place the gender of the speaker.  Surely he wasn’t just a crazy person hearing voices in his head!

_“Isn’t this fun?  I can’t understand you, you can’t understand OR see me, but you know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you?”_

Dmitri began to spin around, desperate to find the source of the voice.  “Who are you?” he demanded.

Something began to tug at the zipper of his pants.

_“Come on, sweetie, you know you can’t resist me.”_

He reached for his crotch to pull his fly back up, but something stopped slapped it away.  The room seemed awfully hot.  So, ridiculously hot…

_“I want to taste you.  Won’t you please give me a drink?”_

There was no stopping himself.  He yanked his pants down, and began masturbating furiously.  It was too much.  That voice was like the whisper of an angel!  A sexy, sexy angel!

* * *

 

Back in his office, Ivan couldn’t stop himself from cackling madly as a woman’s scream erupted from the hall, alerting all those within earshot that something was going on.  His door burst open for the third time that day, but for once, he wasn’t distressed to see who it was.

“Ivan!” shrieked a woman.  “You’ll never _believe_ this!”

“Now, now, Anya, I’m quite busy.”

“B-but, _Dmitri!_ H-he…”

“This is quite important, Anya,” said Ivan, wishing so very much for her to hurry along so he could resume his laughter in peace.

Still in what seemed to be a state of shock, she just looked at him for all of five seconds before slamming the door shut to run off to the next.  Just as she left, a familiar face appeared before him in a vortex of fire, saluting him like some sort of a soldier.

“I’m happy to report that Operation: Hallway Indecency was a success, sir!” said Alfred, and it was clear that he was having as difficult a time holding in his laughter as Ivan was.  “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with that guy anytime soon!”  He sighed mournfully.  “I’m kind of upset that I didn’t get any of his sperm in the end, though.  I was hoping I’d get at least one drink before he got caught.”

Ivan pulled him in close, unable to stop himself from kissing Alfred on the cheek.  “I’ll tell you what.  If it means that much to you, I’ll let you give me a blowjob later.”

“You say that as though it’d inconvenience you,” huffed Alfred, but he didn’t complain as he was pulled onto Ivan’s lap.  “Anyway, I think I deserve some congratulations for a job well done.  It isn’t easy getting people to do that without a physical form for them to see, ya’ know!  As it is, you’re lucky he was weak-willed.  Most of the time, about all I can do is give people an uncomfortable boner that they keep in their pants.”

Ivan stared right into Alfred’s eyes and said, “Somehow, I’m not surprised that you do this often enough to know your limits.”

Alfred wrapped his arms around the back of Ivan’s head and licked his lips.  “What, I’m not allowed to have hobbies outside of outright sex?  You have no idea how funny it is to see the discomfort on their faces!  Especially when they’re in the middle of a date in a fancy restaurant!  Oh, man, that’s always the best!  ‘Is something wrong, honey?’  ‘N-nothing, dear!  I’m p-perfectly fine!  I just need to go, uh, to the bathroom!  Could you excuse me for a moment?’ ”

Ivan couldn’t help but find some humor in that, however childish it was.  Perhaps Alfred wasn’t so bad, after all.  He certainly did some rather entertaining imitations, and really, he had a legitimate excuse for his chatterbox nature.  It wasn’t even all that annoying, provided his insults and complaints weren’t directed at him.  Maybe he was being too hard on the succubus.  He was doing his duty to the letter, even if he _was_ a troublemaker.  Really, what else had he expected from a demon?  All things considered, Alfred was a lot better than he could have been.

“Hey, Alfred,” said Ivan suddenly.  “I don’t suppose you have a preference as to what kind of ‘toy’ you want me to get you?”

Alfred brightened up even more and rested his head against Ivan’s shoulder.  “Hmm…”


	4. The Hundredth Psalm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan has a strange dream, and Alfred continues to be uncooperative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All caught up! :P Now we can finally start with the new. See you tomorrow with chapter five!

"…I can't believe you made me order that," groaned Ivan, his palm pressed against his forehead as Alfred stared at the computer screen with sick fascination. He couldn't bear the thought of looking at the screen any longer, himself, but the description was so memorable that he couldn't banish it from his brain. It was a good thing he'd ordered it with some other person's money, because he'd probably die of embarrassment if it were forever recorded as something HE'D done.

_FetishFountain's one-of-a-kind Fantastic Fetish Combo Pack includes the following:_

  * _One FetishFountain Blazing Black Zombie Dildo_


  * _One FetishFountain Pure Pink Horse Dildo_


  * _One FetishFountain Amazing Almond Super-Sized Dildo_


  * _One FetishFountain LIMITED EDITION Groovy Green Alien Dildo_



_A $400 value for just $79.99!_

Aside from the absurd notion that one dildo was worth $100 – which, despite it not being the currency he knew and grew up with, he was quite certain was a significant mark-up on a piece of rubber – there was the simple matter that they were all incredibly absurd, and made him question how on Earth there could be such a high demand for such things that someone would actually find it worth their time to sell them.

"Oh, quit being such a drama queen," said Alfred, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "These are gonna be a perfect addition to my collection!"

"How very lovely for y-" Ivan stopped and did a double-take. _"Collection?"_

"Well, duh," said Alfred, as though it were obvious. "I'll have to show you after you die. I've got a whole _room_ dedicated entirely to dildos." He seemed to grow very passionate as he spoke, and it wasn't sexually, either; it was innocent, if bizarre, excitement, like someone talking about their collection of more innocent objects. "I've got everything from antiques from the stone age to high-tech, full-on fucking machines. I only actually use the newer ones, of course. The old ones are either too fragile, or too sucky." He touched the screen where the 'limited edition' alien dildo was displayed. "I wonder if real aliens have penises. It would be so disappointing to find out that they didn't after all this amazing pornography. What would alien sperm even taste like? Coke? Oh, man, Coca Cola semen would be fucking _amazing!_ 'course, I love it salty as much as any succubus, but you can't tell me it wouldn't be great to have a little variety…"

"I'm going to go read the news now," said Ivan slowly.

"But what I'd _really_ love is _hamburger_ semen! One time I actually put some on a burger, and man, it was delicious! Hey, you ever heard of this game called Soggy Biscuit? Nothing quite like losing on purpose and getting a whole load of-"

_"Out."_

"Aww…"

Alfred shuffled out of the room, most likely off to finger himself on the sofa. Ivan rolled his eyes and looked over the computer screen.

_A wealthy British businessman known to the community as Jonathan Baker was found dead in his room at 14:00 yesterday afternoon when his wife returned from the grocery store, hanging from a makeshift noose. Police investigation has revealed no signs of foul play. Neighbors are left baffled as to the cause of this sudden suicide._

_"He was such a happy, outgoing person!" said a young woman who wished to remain anonymous. "I don't understand what could have brought this on!"_

Oh, Ivan knew exactly what had happened. Of course, it wouldn't look like a break-in. Their lockpicking division was far too skilled to make their presence obvious like that. An amateur might smash the window, but they would use tools and trickery to open it up in a much more civil manner. Gloves were worn, of course, so as not to leave fingerprints.

After that, they would knock him out in one way or another, typically via a gas so as to avoid bruising, and hang the body while the individual was unconscious. Obviously, the movement of those in the surrounding area was closely monitored, and it could have taken months of waiting for the perfect opportunity to swoop in and strike. Murder was not a game for the impatient.

Ivan exhaled and closed out of the window. It was difficult to disgrace a group that didn't allow the public to know of their existence. More often than not, business came from a handful of slowly-expanding clients, most of whom knew one another and paid protection money so as not to find themselves a target. They wouldn't make many friends if they didn't reward loyal customers, after all.

That was why it had to be done slowly. Little by little, he would mess with their schemes. Carefully opened windows would be broken. Neat homes left just as they were before would be trashed. Evidence that there was something behind the deaths would pile up. Slowly, they would spiral downwards, until at last a failed assassination attempt would end in the arrest of some of their best. From there, if the group splintered, he would pick off the stragglers. If they stuck together, then he would line their trail with disaster and tipped off police until they had no choice but to split.

His lips turned upwards into a smile. No one messed with him or his family and got away with it.

_No one._

* * *

The next couple of hours were anything _but_ uneventful.

Almost from the very moment he set foot inside his own house again, Ivan was training. He memorized thousands of words, and practiced combining them until basic magic was second nature. Alfred proved surprisingly helpful in such endeavors, especially when he knew that the end of an exhausting practice session meant getting the energy fucked back into him as soon as Ivan was able. No, the succubus didn't exactly have much in the common sense department, but he was rather creative. Ivan wasn't sure he ever would have thought about some of the combinations he provided, and his understanding of physics was astounding, considering the time in which he'd grown up.

"So if I were to say it out of order, what would happen?" asked Ivan at one point.

"Well, it would depend," answered Alfred. "Pyrokinetics would ignore words that were spoken out of order, so you might end up with an entirely different spell. On the other hand, there are spells in this book where the order doesn't matter as much, and it just takes in details as a whole. Illusions, for instance. It wouldn't matter if I said 'brunette self,' or 'self brunette.' The spell wouldn't take effect until the incantation and gesture were completed, so you can just string them together however you like. When in doubt, though, use English rules. Like, British English rules. Which is apparently different from American English." Alfred rolled his eyes. "That was what Artie told me, anyway, and he's the acting Lucifer, so-"

"Acting Lucifer?"

"Well, the original Lucifer was our leader, see," explained Alfred, seeming not at all bothered by the sudden change in subject. If there was one thing Ivan had to credit him with, it was the ability to follow an erratic conversation. "I never met him, myself – I'm too young for that – but I guess he died a horrible death. His killer was dubbed Lucifer in his place, and became the new leader. Since then, it's been bestowed on whoever was strong enough to take out the last one, and demons have fought over it ever since. Arthur may not look like much, but he's a force to be reckoned with. Everyone who's ever challenged him has ended up beaten horribly. He's a good teacher, even if he's got a horrible personality. Can't cook for squat, either."

Ivan listened intently. "Is that so? I never would have guessed that I was working with the student of the most powerful demon in Hell."

"Well, thank yo- HEY!" cried Alfred upon realizing that he'd just been insulted. "Believe what you will. So far, not one of the Lucifers has been a lust demon. One day I'm gonna be the first succubus to take charge!"

"You mean to kill your teacher?"

"Not kill," answered Alfred quickly, looking a bit horrified by the idea. "Arthur may annoy me sometimes, but I couldn't possibly do that him. Nah, I'm just gonna kick his ass and take his place, is all. Plenty of Lucifers have fallen without actually dying in the past. The one before Arthur is still alive and well. He's still pretty pissed about the whole thing, though. Anyway, Arthur completely expects to have us after his throne. He's pretty much been grooming Mattie and I to fight it out for a long while now; something about retirement. I guess you get a bit tired after a seven hundred year reign. Lucky for me, Mattie may be a wrath demon, but he'd rather study than find practical applications for what he learns. No real ambition to him. He's almost all talk."

"Almost?"

"Well, it takes a lot to really piss him off to the point of him physically messing with you. That one time he teleported me into the middle of nowhere leading to the moose incident? I admit, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't deserved," said Alfred, a sly smile on his face.

Ivan couldn't help the curiosity he was feeling. "What did you do?"

"Well, you know, when you're a fledgling demon who's just realized they have the power to give people spontaneous erections in the worst possible situations…" said Alfred, setting his feet back down on the basement floor. "You don't know joy until you've got someone waddling off to somewhere private! Poor sucker, right in the middle of a hockey game! Demons take just as much joy out of sports as humans do, you know. Anyway, he just had to score one more time to beat this other guy, right? And they had this huge bet going on, too. Loser had to pay the winner five souls – that's a lot for a fledgling – and wear a polka dot miniskirt for the rest of the month. But, well, I couldn't resist, ya' know? He was in such a rush, and I was itching for some entertainment. That sudden erection startled him enough to lose balance, and the game with it. Man, you should have seen the look on his face! Probably didn't help that I mentioned sleepin' with his opponent that one time, ESPECIALLY since the aforementioned opponent was his crush…"

* * *

As it turned out, pyrokinetics were only the beginning.

Ivan could see Alfred's lips move as he silently counted down the Table of Contents. "This, right here!" he said. "This should translate to 'Environmental Hypersensitivity,' right? That's the next skill we should work on."

Nodding, Ivan flipped to that page in the book. "Meaning?"

"These are spells that improve on your senses, like vision and hearing…"

Although the explanations of the book were good in and of themselves, Alfred proved more than capable of providing clarification into that which he'd missed. While he certainly didn't show it, the succubus definitely knew what he was talking about, and at times he got so into what he was saying that his ridiculous libido was all but forgotten. As the day wore on, Ivan was even beginning to notice that Alfred had taken to wearing clothes, something he'd casually shrug off when prodded for answers.

"I thought it'd make you more comfortable! 'sides, doesn't this fur make me look sexy?"

They went over spell after spell, and Ivan remembered them all. Illusions. Teleportation. Transformation. Influencing the actions of other people. It proved more difficult than he anticipated. The more advanced spells had to be said with feeling and confidence, especially if you wanted to maintain long-term control over them. Much like moving an arm, you couldn't just think about lifting it and expect it to happen. It was something that had to be _done;_ according to Alfred, it was the sort of thing that had to be learned from experience.

Like an infant taking its first steps, Ivan stumbled through his first few spells. Although he didn't consider himself short on confidence, he couldn't help but mentally falter when he attempted to conjure up something as simple as a beam of concentrated light.

Even in his excitement to learn, he was relieved when the moon rose into the sky and gave him an excuse to go to bed. Still protected by Matthew's 'two day' prognosis, he fell right to sleep curled under the blankets, with Alfred not at all hesitating to press them together.

"There's enough room for you on the other side of the bed, you know," Ivan pointed out with a tired sigh.

"I know."

"It's just as soft there."

"I know."

"You can-"

"I _know."_

Well, there was no use fighting it. Since he was capable of feeling cold once again, he couldn't deny that it was somewhat nice to have Alfred pressed against his back. His restored sense of temperature made it apparent that yes, the demon was, in fact, warmer than a human would be. Even with such a perpetual fever-like state, however, no sweat was produced, so the contact wasn't as sticky as instinct told him it would be. Still, there was something that bothered him, and it was only after a moment of silent contemplation in the darkness that he realized Alfred had no pulse to speak of.

It wasn't as though he had any understanding as to how the body of a demon worked, but it seemed so unusual to be so close to something that seemed so human, and yet, wasn't. Perhaps it was simply because a succubus was designed to put mortals at ease, but if not for the demonic attributes such as his horns and powers, and perhaps the occasional sadistic streak, Alfred seemed almost like a human, himself. Was there really such a small difference between a person and a creature from the depths of Hell, who was practically defined by sin? Or was he himself so jaded and monstrous that he didn't understand just how different an ordinary human would be?

Ivan closed his eyes, too tired to contemplate such things, and went to sleep.

* * *

Her voice was so beautiful, Ivan found himself wondering if he were listening to an angel, come down to cleanse him of his sin.

 _"Enter into His gate with praise, into His court with thankfulness!"_ she sang, and he listened intently from her lap. _"Make ye confession unto Him, and His name reverently bless! Because Jehovah, He is good! Forever more is His mercy! And unto generations all continue doth his verity!"_

As the song came to its conclusion, a voice called out from the door of the modest little home, with candles and oil lamps as the only source of light. It came from a stout, bearded man in fine, if worn, clothing.

"Mary, love, we mustn't be late!" he told her, beckoning for them both to follow.

Blearily, rational thought flowed in and out of his mind, his own personality seeming to rise and fade at random; his understanding of the world around him seemed to come and go inversely to that. He followed after the woman without question, his tiny hands clinging to her faded brown dress. There was a natural beauty about her, and her long golden hair had a life that the silly bonnet atop her head couldn't quite contain. A few stray strands poked up out the front, though she appeared to be doing her best to tuck them back under.

"Mama, is papa going to be speaking again?" asked Ivan, though the words were quite involuntary.

"Why, of course, darling. It's his job to give the sermon, after all."

Ivan's shoulders drooped, another action done entirely against his will. "Do we have to go to church today, mama? It's so boring! I want to stay home and play!"

The mother – for she certainly wasn't _his_ mother – seemed startled, and the man he could only assume was the father looked quite miffed, indeed.

 _"Yes,_ we have to go to church!" the man replied, as though the very notion of skipping it was simply unthinkable. "Don't you _ever_ speak of such things again, do you hear me?"

"But papa!" the child – for the actions were not Ivan's own – whined. "I don't like the stories!"

"Now, darling," began the mother, but the child was already on a tangent.

"You always say God is good, papa, but so many bad things happen to people in the stories! I don't understa-"

He heard and saw the hand strike his – or, rather, the child's – cheek, but he didn't feel the pain. Still, there was something familiar in the motion, and Ivan couldn't quell the feeling that whoever's body he was in, it was someone who was used to being slapped.

"The Lord is not to be held in such contempt! He is _above_ judgment, boy! _Above_ wicked mortals like you and I! I ought to have you put in the stockade for such vitriol!"

"Jonathan, please," said the woman. "He's just a child, he doesn't understand…"

The child in question was sobbing, clutching his cheek after having fallen to the floor.

"No! He's old enough to understand the gravity of such words by now!" said the man angrily. He yanked the young boy up by the ear, forcing him to his feet. "Recite the Lord's prayer!"

His response was to sniffle. "N-no! You're mean! _God_ is mean! I hate you, and _I hate G-"_

Even though he couldn't feel it, physically, Ivan still noticed a pang in his chest as the boy – who, though he couldn't see what he looked like for himself, was quite clearly around the age of four – was held up by his hair, and repeatedly slapped. Over, and over, and over again.

"John, stop this at once!" said the woman desperately. "He's _just a child!"_

_"Recite it!"_

At last, the crying boy relented. "O-our father, who art in H-h-heaven…"

"Can't recite it, can you?" snarled the father, and he let go, allowing the boy to drop. "Devil-spawn, is what you are!"

 _"Jonathan!"_ said the woman, horrified. She knelt down to wipe the tears from the fallen child's face. "There, there, dear, your father doesn't mean it…"

"Don't lie to him! I mean every last word!" said the man as he stormed off to the door. "That boy has been touched by the devil!"

The door slammed behind him, leaving the woman alone with the child.

"P-papa h-hates me!" wailed the boy.

"Oh, no, no, no," whispered the woman, holding him close. "Papa doesn't hate you. He's just very, very angry. Sometimes, people get so angry, they say horrible things."

"B-but he said I was-"

"Hush, now, love. Papa doesn't actually think that, I promise. He's just, oh, frustrated, okay?" Though she was clearly trying her best to remain calm, she was quite obviously exasperated, and Ivan had a feeling that it wasn't the first time in the family's history that such an event had unfolded.

The little boy hiccupped. "Does God get frustrated, too?"

At last, the woman managed a smile. "God may get frustrated sometimes, but He's never angry at you. The Lord loves all of his children, and holds contempt only for the sin itself."

"What about the devil?"

The woman paused, not seeming to understand his question. "What?"

"God created everything, right?" asked the child, the tears at last seeming to dry up. "Does God still love the devil?"

The mother was quiet for a moment, and then she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I think He does." She exhaled. "But please, don't bring such things up to your father, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good boy…"

* * *

Everything seemed to fade.

Ivan's eyes snapped open, and it took him a minute to get used to the feeling of controlling his own body again. Alfred's palm wasn't resting on his crotch, something he found himself surprised by. The dream was still fresh in his thoughts. In the muddled world of his mind, he hadn't been sure what language they were speaking, but the names used… Wait.  What were the names, again? He couldn't remember. As the seconds wore on, the contents of the dream seemed to fade away, as though it were a distant memory hundreds of years old. All he could clearly remember was that he'd been trapped in the body of a child, and a man whom had appeared to be a priest had struck him. Considering his situation, he couldn't say it was surprising that he was already having nightmares of divine judgment for his sins.

He slowly got up into a sitting position, and turned off his alarm clock; there was no need for it when he was up an hour early. A wondrous scent wafted in through the door, but he couldn't quite place what it was. He wasn't a morning person, and it was too early for such monumental tasks as actually thinking. The gears wouldn't really start turning until the sun actually came up. A shot of vodka would probably have helped, though. Some people thought drinking it straight was positively foul, but he himself was only in it for the relaxing buzz.

Ivan got to his feet, then headed off in search of the scent's source. It led him straight to the kitchen, where Alfred seemed to be busy grilling strips of bacon. Where he'd gotten them, Ivan had no idea; he couldn't remember buying any. The dry, crispy texture had never held any appeal to him. Besides, his breakfast typically consisted of something simple, anyway. There had been mornings where he would quite literally grab a slice of bread, stuff it into his mouth, and head out to take care of more important things than eating.

"Good morning, master," greeted Alfred, his attire for the morning being a pair of gray sweatpants and a plain white shirt, along with a checkered green and white apron. "How'd you sleep?"

Ivan hesitated, and rubbed his eyes. Yes, those were definitely demonic wings stretching out from the back of the creature preparing him breakfast as though it were a morning routine. Somehow, it wasn't what he'd initially pictured when he found the book.

"…Fine," he answered at last. "And you?"

"Like a rock!" answered Alfred, and he twirled around to set down a place with two strips of bacon off to the side. "How do you like your eggs? Sunny side up or down?"

It just got weirder by the second. "I don't really have a preference."

"Up it is!" chirped Alfred. "I always like 'em that way so I can poke them open easier and watch the yolk spill out. Then I dip a piece of toast or bacon in, and _mmmm!_ Better than semen!" He took a moment to stop and think about what he'd said. "Well, it comes pretty close, anyway."

Ivan nibbled gingerly on the bacon he'd been given, a bit concerned that it would explode in his face at any minute, or do something else equally horrible. "I thought you couldn't sustain yourself on human food."

"No, but it tastes delicious," answered Alfred, licking his lips. "Hey, we should go out for hamburgers sometime! Do you like McDonald's?"

"…Not particularly…" Ivan didn't really care for the brand, and he wasn't fond enough of group outings to go with anyone else. He always felt as though he was at a loss for what to say, strangely disconnected from those around him. That, and he was worried that anyone he got close enough to would find evidence of his crimes.

A pair of eggs were dropped onto his plate. "Well, what do you like, then? Dude, you've had a demon at your beck and call for over twenty-four hours, and we still haven't done anything cool! I know you have your goals, and all, but I'm not some sort of a genie that only grants you three wishes. You can tell me to do more stuff. I mean, seriously, it's nice that you've been studying magic, and all, but come _on!_ Quit your job and do something dangerous that you never would have done before I came along! Like, oh, jumping from a plane without a parachute!"

"Actually," said Ivan, wincing at the memory, "I've done that already. Long story, that…" He really, _really_ didn't care to recount that one right then.

"Okaaaaaaaaaay, well," continued Alfred, "what about setting something on fire? Ooh! Ooh! Like a house! With people in it! Oh, we don't have to kill them, or anything – I can leave enough space for them to get out – but just think of how much fun it'll be to watch them squirm!"

"Quite the sadist, aren't you?" said Ivan. He prodded at the egg, briefly, but he didn't really feel as hungry as Alfred had apparently anticipated.

"I can appreciate both ends of the spectrum, if you catch my drift," said Alfred, not even attempting to be subtle about where he was coming from.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. "Oh, _I_ see what this is about," said Ivan, glaring at Alfred. "You're trying to catch me in a good mood so you can convince me to do something stupid and get myself killed early!"

Alfred shook his hands wildly in front of his face. "That's not it at all! You've got it all wrong, man! I can't believe you'd even suggest that. I may be a soulless abomination, but I would never do something _that_ classless. Especially not before we get to kill some people." He took the apron off and slid into Ivan's lap. "I just get bored, ya' know? I was thinking that maybe we could do something fun."

Ivan wasn't buying it, but he stroked Alfred's head all the same. "You're horrible, you know."

"Aww, that's so sweet of you," said Alfred, and he pressed his lips against Ivan's neck.

Ivan immediately pulled him off. "Hey! I have to go to work today, and I can't afford to go in with an erection! After the fiasco with Dmitri, who knows what it's going to be like in there?"

Alfred shifted positions so that he was straddling Ivan's legs. "You've still got time to shower, don't you? Come on, just one round. I can even suck you off. You promised!"

He sighed and turned to look at the clock. Alfred was right, there _was_ plenty of time. He could afford to have a little fun, first. "Okay, fine, but only one round. If you try to squeeze any more than that out of me, then you can bet there's going to be Hell to pay."

Alfred grinned from ear to ear, and it only took him about a second to roll off and slip under the table. "Awesome. You eat _your_ breakfast, and I'll eat _mine."_

Ivan rolled his eyes and slid his chair closer to the table so he could rest his arms on it while Alfred slid his cock out from behind the little clothing he'd worn to bed. Whatever the intentions behind it were, he wasn't going to waste perfectly good food, even if he wasn't exactly used to eating so much so early in the morning.

"You know," said Alfred with Ivan's length in hand, "I was going to make you some sausages, too, but then I figured you've got a big enough one already."

"Oh, ha ha," said Ivan, the sarcasm thick in his voice. "Get on with it already."

He could have sworn he heard Alfred muttering something unpleasant, but the sudden feeling of being wrapped up in such incredible heat kept him from scolding him for it. The succubus has quite an amazing mouth, that was certain, and it was only about ten seconds into it that Ivan found himself completely unable to hold onto the strip of bacon that had been in his hand. It was just the right texture, and moist enough to lubricate the way without being excessively slimy. Alfred seemed to take him easily down his throat, and not a single millimeter was left exposed. There was a surprisingly pleasant little squelching sound as he swallowed, once, twice, then three times, clamping down on his shaft and squeezing it like an almost-empty tube of toothpaste.

The cold air was a dreadful shock as Alfred pulled his lips off of him to speak. "How're you liking that? You're not very vocal. Aren't you going to talk dirty to me?" He gently bit down on the tip, and Ivan jerked his sagging head up as the sharp fangs poked at him just enough to cause discomfort, without actually breaking the skin.

"Stop that!" he ordered, grabbing Alfred by the hair; the succubus flinched very briefly, but recovered so quickly that Ivan was left wondering if he'd imagined it.

"Aww, is the big, bad assassin put off by a little nibble?" taunted Alfred, stroking Ivan with his hand. "I didn't think you were that sensitive."

Ivan was very tempted to slap him right then, but a little voice in the back of his head managed to convince him that it wasn't going to get him anywhere. "Look, no biting, okay? I don't think that's asking much. If you can't manage that, then I'll just have to get you a cup. Is that what you want?"

Horror spread across Alfred's face. "Okay, okay, I get it! I'll be nice, okay? Just please don't get a cup. It'll get cold, and all those swimmers'll die before I can eat them! Come on, babe…"

"Don't 'babe' me," said Ivan, unimpressed.

"Okay, 'master,' then! Tell you what, why don't you fuck my throat?" suggested Alfred, apparently quite desperate to appease him. "Damn it, don't make me beg like this. You can't just leave me hanging when I'm in the mood!"

Ivan's grip tightened, and Alfred pouted in response. "I most certainly can. But, since you offered, I suppose I can take you up on that. Out, then." He pulled the demon out from under the table, and, quite clearly not thrilled by the feeling of having his hair yanked on, Alfred followed without too much of a fight.

"You know," said Alfred as he was shoved down onto his knees, "you get really aggressive when you're horny." He laughed. "I like that. Come on, now. Aren't you going to shut me u-"

He was interrupted when his mouth was filled, and Ivan wasn't exactly feeling gentle. Alfred could take it, clearly, so there was no need to hold back. That intoxicating warmth almost seemed designed to egg him on; using the same fistful of hair as leverage, he pulled out, and slammed back in. A human most likely would have gagged, or even vomited, but Alfred's eyes just rolled upwards, and his cheeks grew pink. The vibrations of his pleased moans served as yet more encouragement to start thrusting into his throat at a pace that he had a difficult time believing a mortal would be able to keep up with.

At some point, Alfred reached up to stroke himself, but Ivan grabbed his hand and threw it back down. "Did I give you permission to touch yourself?" For a moment, he wondered when he'd adapted phrases that sounded like they'd been ripped from a cheap porn film. _Just_ a moment.

"Mm-mm-mm!" said Alfred in response, and he struggled to shake his head a couple times. He set his hands back on the floor to keep himself stabilized as his mouth was rather violently violated, the strange and unknown fluids of own length dripping down onto the floor beneath him.

Ivan used his free hand to pinch Alfred's nose shut. "I wonder, do demons need to breathe?"

Alfred couldn't even manage a response, but his lack of panic or concern had Ivan thinking that the answer was probably 'no.'

He wasn't the only one having difficulty speaking; Ivan himself was struggling through words, panting throughout the ordeal. Alfred's swallowing, sucking, and constant movement of his tongue in _all_ the right ways made it rather difficult to think of a way to insult him, much less actually do it. There was a steady _shlock_ with each successive thrust into the succubus' waiting mouth, and Ivan noted with some amusement that Alfred was making a dedicated effort to keep his teeth out of the way.

"Hah, is this all your mouth is good for?" he asked, and Alfred shuddered. "I think I'm going to put you in a chastity belt. How does that sound?"

_"MMMM!"_

"Oh, calm down," hushed Ivan, reaching the beginning of the end. "You'll behave yourself, now, won't you? No more being a nuisance, especially when time is of the essence?"

Alfred shook his head as much as he was able, his face as red as a rose. "Mm-mm!" He swallowed again in a show of apparent dedication, and it was that last squeezing of his throat that sucked down a thick stream of seed into whatever the demonic equivalent of a stomach was. Ivan found himself holding his breath to keep from moaning as every last drop of his sperm was consumed; not one bit of it was left behind to drip to the floor.

When Ivan pulled out, and Alfred was finally able to talk again, the first thing he did was rub his throat. "Hey, has anyone ever told you that you have a fantastic sperm count?"

It was good to know that he hadn't changed a bit in the brief time he'd been unable to speak. Ivan slowly shook his head. "I can't exactly say that I have."

"Oh, because you do," said Alfred, licking his lips and fingers as though some trace might remain. "Ya' know, everyone's semen tastes different, depending on their genetics. A human couldn't possibly tell, of course, but it's easy for me. Ah, yours is good, too! Nice and strong, with a bit of a pungent aftertaste. Although, I'm gonna go ahead and guess that you drink a lot? You should do that less; it really comes through, and it could really improve that sperm count. I mean, if it's this good now, imagine what it'll be like when you've got even more!"

Ivan slowly edged away from Alfred as he went on and on about the many ways in which he could take better care of what the succubus was calling his 'swimmers.' "Alfred, I really have to-" He stopped, and looked at the clock. There was a tingling sensation in his genitals, and he couldn't help but notice that he actually had yet to soften. "…Alfred, what did you do?"

"Oh, uh, oops," said Alfred, but his tone indicated that his apology was fabricated. "I forgot to mention that my saliva acts as an aphrodisiac; it's usually not particularly potent unless it's applied directly to the genitals, though, and even then it isn't usually produced in great quantities unless my mouth is taking a lot of abuse. Like, say, if it's getting fucked instead of me getting to just work my magic. Heh. It's okay, though, it'll wear off in a couple of hours!"

Ivan pressed his fingers to his temples. "I have to be at _work_ in a couple of hours!"

"Weeeeell, there IS a way to get rid of it early," said Alfred deviously. "If we had sex, I could soak it all back up. But you told me that we'd only be doing a blowjob today, remember?"

Oh, so _that_ was his grand master plan. Damn it, Alfred was a lot more devious than he'd given him credit for. He acted like such a moron sometimes that Ivan had grown to underestimate him. He would have to be more careful in the future. "Is that so? Well, then, I'll tell you what. I'll fuck you now, and you'll fix this problem. However, I believe I already warned you that this sort of misbehavior would get you punished."

Alfred grinned. "Oh? What kind of punishment? I have to eat, or you won't have any power. I love pain, so that's out of the question, too. You're not allowed to do anything permanently damaging, and holy water and stuff would hurt you just as much as me even if you could. The worst you can do to me is make me drink out of a cup, and even then, there's no way you can resist me for long. Not when you've already had a taste."

"What about regular water?" asked Ivan. Alfred hadn't been very inclined towards getting in the shower.

"Uncomfortable, like if you were soaked and wearing clothes, but it can't do any real damage unless it gets somewhere sensitive or absorbent, and even then only in its ordinary, room-temperature state; if it can't be splashed, it's not a threat," said Alfred, tail swishing cockily. "It's a good thing I don't ever need to clean up before getting down and dirty, 'cause enemas are out of the question."

Ivan stroked Alfred's head. "Hm, really? So you can handle _anything_ I throw at you, is that what you're saying?"

"I sure am! Hey," said Alfred as Ivan turned and began heading down the hall. "Where are you going?"

"I'll be right back. Stay put."

Alfred bounced excitedly up and down. "I knew it! Someone as aggressive in bed as you has to have a whip or something laying around here somewhere!"

His excitement dimmed about six or so minutes later, when Ivan returned with a glass jar full of snow.

"…Hey, Ivan? Why'd you scoop that up from the yard?" he asked, growing more wary by the minute.

"You love pain, don't you?" said Ivan, setting the jar down. It was a good thing there'd been snow on the porch; otherwise he would have had to get dressed. "Well, then, you'll love this."

"I-Ivan?" squeaked Alfred. "C-come on now, man, I'll fix the aphrodisiac thing! It was just a joke, ya' know?" When Ivan unscrewed the lid, he shrunk back. "Please tell me that's not going where I think it's going. I'm not built for this sort of stuff!"

"Bend over the chair." It was a good thing it was a tile floor; it wouldn't take long to mop up the mess.

Alfred opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again when it became clear that he couldn't think of anything he could say that would get him out of the situation he'd gotten himself into. "This is gonna suck," he muttered, resigning himself to doing as he was told.

"Come now, Alfred, it could be worse," teased Ivan. "At least I can't drag you to church."

Alfred turned his head back to bare his fangs, wings flopping to either side as he straightened his legs, then turned to face the floor again, mumbling curses in various languages. "I'm allowed to cancel my services and still collect on the contract if you try to hurt me with water!"

"It isn't water. It's snow. Which turns into water, but I'm not hurting you with it directly, now, am I? And while I can't order you to do anything that would cause direct damage to you, I CAN order you to sit still while I do something that won't. At least, not at first."

Alfred's eyes widened, then narrowed again. He stuck his tongue out at him and stuck his middle finger up. "That "direct" part was supposed to mean that you can't be held accountable if an order unrelated to hurting myself gets me hurt as a result of unforeseeable consequences! You damn loophole abuser!"

"Hypocrite."

He stuck his hand into the jar, and it tingled unpleasantly as the snow he scooped up sucked the warmth from his fingers. Using one hand to hold Alfred steady, he began to press it in. Thankfully for him, though not so much for Alfred, it had rained overnight, and the snow was of a much denser consistency than it had been when it had first fallen. It was difficult to get in, as it didn't stay firm when he pressed it into Alfred's ridiculous heat; instead, it immediately began to melt into water.

"H-huwaaaaahnnnnnn! Mmm!" groaned Alfred, twitching uncomfortably at the cold intrusion. "F-fuck! Can't we talk about this? _Please?"_ He arched his back, limbs tense. "O-oh, _fuckfuckfuck…"_

"You told me you were going to behave, and you didn't," answered Ivan, enjoying the show much more than he probably ought to have. Oh well, he was a cold-blooded killer, and a witch, to boot; it wasn't as though he had much to worry about in terms of morality. "Clearly it's because you haven't been disciplined thoroughly enough."

"This would be really sexy if you were putting literally _anything_ else in my ass," complained Alfred. "I've learned my lesson, okay? No more tricks, no more loopholes, no more general mischief! _Ah!"_

Another fistful of haphazardly-packed snow was forced into him, and although Alfred was whining for every second of it, he gradually appeared to adjust.

"I-it's so cold," he gasped, and Ivan was quite dismayed to find that Alfred was actually beginning to grow hard. "It hurts, master, please…" His voice didn't seem quite as sincere as it had been previously.

"It hurts, does it? What's this, then?" demanded Ivan, squeezing the base of Alfred's reawakened erection. "You're not meant to enjoy this."

Alfred gasped and writhed, especially as he was filled with another handful of snow. "Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are. _Ooh…"_

Ivan exhaled. Clearly, he was going to have to opt for another tactic. He looked around the kitchen for a moment or two, then smiled deviously as an idea formed in his head. "Hold still."

"Ah-aaaaah, whatever."

He headed on down into his combined basement and work room, leaving Alfred alone in the kitchen. Down the stairs he descended, until finally he reached the desk containing his oh-so-valuable, oh-so-secret computer locked up in a drawer. Oh, where had he left the things he was looking for? He rifled through his belongings and opened up several of the drawers that didn't have locks on them.

Aha! There they were. He took one and made his way back to the kitchen, where Alfred still sat waiting. As he rounded the corner, he noticed that the succubus had followed orders and not budged an inch. It mattered little to him, though. Alfred had to be taught a lesson, didn't he?

Taking little care to ensure safety or painlessness, Ivan snapped the rubber band around the base of Alfred's erection, wrapping it around twice just to be safe.

"Wha- HEY!" cried the demon. "That's, that's dangerous and irresponsible! You could cut off the circula- MMMM!" He seemed unable to form words as more snow was stuffed down into him, until the jar was half-empty. "C-could cause p-permanent damaaaaah…"

"What circulation?" inquired Ivan. "You have no pulse."

Alfred opened his mouth defiantly, but once again seemed to find himself unable to argue. "B-but…"

"But you won't be able to finish?" Ivan continued for him, smiling brightly. "What a tragedy."

Alfred appeared to be about ready to kill, the look in his eyes one of pure frustration. Were Ivan anyone else, it might have been alarming. As it was, he found it aesthetically pleasing. The look of passion and defiance was a roaring flame compared to the mere candlelight he got out of some of the meeker, helpless individuals he'd hurt before. Even on the few times he'd gone all-out on someone, their expression was one of desperation and pleading. Alfred, however, got _angry_ when he was tormented, and it was quite an erotic sight. Ivan couldn't help but briefly wonder if he would still look at him with such venom were he a human victim under a knife. Images of tearing his abdomen open to find out what he looked like on the inside flashed through his mind; would he have the same organs, if anything at all bundled up within him?

"Damn it, I'm going to have so many blisters in horrible places…" groaned Alfred, appearing both pleasured and distressed at the same time. He looked desperately towards the clock. "Look, you have to go to work soon! I'm sorry about the aphrodisiac! I really, _really_ am! But please, can't you just stop? I've learned my lesson! For real!"

Ivan sighed when he reached into the jar again, only to have his cold fingers scrape against the empty bottom. Water was dripping down onto the floor, having melted inside of Alfred, pooling into a small puddle at his feet. He slipped his fingers inside of the succubus experimentally, and quickly found that it wasn't cold at all. Instead, his body seemed to have heated up even more than usual to compensate. Alfred simply hung his head and twitched.

"If I forgive you now, I just don't think that it's going to sink in," said Ivan, smiling wickedly. "I hereby sentence you to a week without orgasm."

Alfred's head shot up, and he turned around with wide, horrified eyes. "A _week? ONE WHOLE WEEK?"_ He looked as though he were on the verge of hyperventilating. "Nonononononononono! I can't last a week like that! No fucking way!" He buried his face in his hands. "Seven days! A hundred and sixty-eight hours! Ten-thousand and eighty minutes! Six-hundred-four-thousand and eight-hundred seconds!"

Ivan raised an eyebrow, a little impressed. He himself certainly couldn't pull off such calculations without a piece of paper and a pencil, especially in such a short time frame. It seemed Alfred was much more useful when he was actually motivated to do something, and sex seemed to be the only thing that got his attention.

"I'll tell you what," said Ivan, pressing his aphrodisiac-hardened erection against Alfred's scorching aperture. "I'll reduce it to three days on one condition."

It was clear that the succubus was struggling to think rationally at that point, sharp nails digging into the wooden legs of the chair. Brow dripping with sweat, Alfred – still facing the floor – nodded fervently. "Yes, sir! Whatever you say, sir! Please, anything!"

Ivan secured a cluster of hair in his fist and yanked upwards to make absolutely sure that he had Alfred's attention. "No more tricks. _None._ Do you understand? No loopholes, no half-truths, and no strategically withholding information. You will cooperate, or I'll make sure you spend the rest of my life chaste and drinking from a cup, not even able to touch yourself."

"Understood!" squealed Alfred, and it was pretty clear that he was at his breaking point. Feeling just a little merciful, and perhaps remembering that he would face retribution for treating the foocubus in such a manner when he died, Ivan pushed in.

He immediately had to cover his own mouth to keep himself from making any embarrassing noises. As it turned out, a demon of lust was more than capable of drawing out such base instincts even without the use of aphrodisiacs. Despite appearing incapacitated with pleasure, he was still clamping down with the strength of a crocodile bite. True to Alfred's word, Ivan could feel the tingling sensation leaving him, although it hardly mattered by that point.

As usual, the succubus knew _exactly_ when to squeeze, and when to relax. Even in the absence of logic or reason, his body acted on instinct without need for such facilities as his mind. Ivan, unsure of just why, gently eased Alfred off of his awkward position collapsed over the side of a chair, and onto the floor. His wings both flopped to one side, into a pool of his own whatever-it–as-that-came-from-a-succubus'-length. An aphrodisiac of some kind, most likely.

"M-mashtaaaaaah…" moaned Alfred, eyes closed. "Feels so g-gah-good…"

Ivan couldn't help himself; still though he was with his chest pressed to the ground, Alfred's neck just seemed so wonderfully tempting in that moment, and he wrapped his hands around it as though he intended to kill. The demon didn't seem to mind that there were suddenly fingertips pressing down on his throat, yanking his head back as though he were attempting to rip it clean off.

His neck was much sturdier than a human's; no amount of pulling would snap his it, although the lack of air did a good job of shutting him up. Alfred's tail wrapped itself around his waist, the spade-shaped tip occasionally grazing his skin as his whole body twisted and writhed. It was never painful, though; it seemed the lesson had been learned.

The tugging on his neck had Alfred's back arched awkwardly, and eventually Ivan let go for simple practicality. The demon didn't gasp for breath; he simply resumed breathing, as though no suffocation had ever taken place.

"F-fuck, _harder,_ master, _harder!_ Stretch me! _Yes!_ I want to feel you ripping me apart!" he cried. "Come on, come _on,_ yes, yes, _yes!_ So _fucking close…"_ He thrashed around, desperate to finish. His claw-like nails dug into the ground, forming long scratch marks as he wildly scratched at it. "I've been such a bad boy! Nngh! O-oh f-fu-uh- _uck!_ Tear me to _fucking pieces, YES!"_

He grew limp as Ivan climaxed inside of him, albeit looking rather irritated and unsatisfied as his screams came to such an abrupt halt.

"P-please, at least let me-"

"No," said Ivan firmly, getting to his feet without so much as offering Alfred a hand. "I've given you more than enough warning, and you still chose to play your little games."

Alfred winced and reluctantly lifted himself up, nearly slipping in his own puddle of bodily fluids in the process. "Can't you find it in you to forgive me just this once?"

"The answer isn't going to change just because you continue to pester me."

Alfred exhaled, but when he looked up at Ivan, there was something new in his eyes, and it wasn't resentment. Was it awe? Respect? Both? Either way, he seemed impressed. "You're a pretty brave guy, talking like that to someone who could sneeze you off the face of the planet."

Ivan couldn't resist petting Alfred's head, a smug smile on his face. "Life is like a game of chess, you know? You may have the power of a queen, but I'm in a position where you can't touch me. Eventually, I'll be vulnerable and cornered, but you'll be cooped up behind a line of pawns for a while yet. I intend to take as many pieces as I can in that time."

Alfred nodded thoughtfully, then paused, and finally shook his head.

"I don't get it, what's this about queens and pieces?"

"Just forget I said anything…" sighed Ivan.

* * *

"Welcome home!" greeted Alfred as Ivan opened the door. "Did you bring me anything?"

Ivan took off his coat and hung it up on the wall. "What are you, five?" Nonetheless, he reached into his pocket. "Either that, or you can sniff it out. Here, I thought I'd throw you a bone. You can eat this sort of thing, can't you?" He placed a handful of wrapped chocolates into Alfred's eager, outstretched hands.

"Hell yeah, I can!" said Alfred, already unwrapping them. "I mean, they'll sustain me about as well as a stick of celery, but the _taste!_ You're the best, man." He stuffed it into his mouth, blissfully hovering in circles around his witch.

"I thought I'd give you something to keep you occupied while you recover," said Ivan honestly enough. "It doesn't seem like you'll be able to feed for awhile."

Alfred's shoulders drooped. "Well, my ass is still stinging something fierce, and is probably swollen to the point where you couldn't possibly fit anything in there if you tried, but I can still use my mouth!" He dragged his sharpened nails up Ivan's arm to his shoulder. "It's not as good as from behind, but eh, I'll take what I can get. Promise not to lace my saliva with aphrodisiac next time. Believe me, I've learned my fucking lesson." He shuddered.

"I should hope so," said Ivan, feeling rather proud of himself. "You're quite the handful, you know. Are all demons this bad?"

"Nope," answered Alfred, leaning on Ivan's shoulder and speaking through a mouthful of chocolate. "Oo-uh-goh-uh-y!"

"What's that?"

The succubus swallowed. "I said, you just got lucky. I'm a total rebel! I don't take shit from anyone!" He floated up past Ivan's shoulders and made himself comfortable atop his head. "You don't take shit from anyone, either. Not even me." His tail dug into Ivan's back. "You have no idea how hot that gets me…"

Ivan pulled him down to the ground, something that felt much like tugging downwards on a balloon full of helium, and held him there. "If I had another day for every individual thing that gets you all hot and bothered, I'd be immortal."

"That's totally not true!" argued Alfred. "You'd only have sixty-seven extra years. I've done the math!"

"Did you include leap years?"

The demon's eyes widened. "Shit. Hang on, okay, one extra day every four years… But if I have that many fetishes, then that number needs to be…"

Before Alfred got too distracted, Ivan yanked him back into the real world by the horn, and pulled him off down the hall. "It was only a joke, Alfred," he said. "Now, let's-"

"Hey, when I count my fetish for languages and accents, are they all one and the same? Or is a fetish for a French accent different from a fetish for a Russian one?" continued Alfred, using his fingers to help him count. "Hey, speaking of which, you never speak Russian to me! Why is that?"

Ivan's shoulders drooped, but he kept dragging his demon-shaped balloon down into the basement by the leg. "Why would I? Normal people don't sprinkle their own language into other ones. They just speak it as it is." Unless they didn't know a word, or were otherwise trying to teach the language to someone else. "That sort of thing only happens in movies trying too hard to be authentic."

Alfred pouted. "Aww, why do you have to be so fluent? You sounded sexy when you were talking to other people yesterday."

"Because I'm well-practiced and take pride in skills that I've spent years honing, perhaps?" asked Ivan, irritated.

"Yeah, but, I mean, every once and awhile you could just _pretend,_ you know?" said Alfred. "Like, in a roleplay! I can be the sexy spy, and you can be the almost-but-not-quite-as-sexy communist interrogating me! With sex!"

Ivan let go of Alfred and rubbed his temples. "You know what? I can just practice myself for today. _Do svidanya_ , Alfred."

"Oh, _now_ you do it, when I've been barred from orgasm?" cried Alfred. "You son of a…"


	5. The Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan and Alfred go on a little walk to take care of their first, simple task. This turns out to be a bit trickier than anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, after a bit of a wait, we reach the fifth installment in The Book of Hell. I hope it was worth the aggravation this whole thing must have put you guys through getting to it. :P Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, and if you have ANYTHING to say about the quality, leave a comment about that, as well. Even if it's just to point out a typo! (It's much easier to edit stuff here than on FF. I'll interrogate you for criticism, if I have to!) I'll reply to everyone, if I have the time. (Seeing as I have no life and don't wish to study for finals, it's not likely I'll run out. XD)
> 
> Oh, and a quick vote. We've reached the end of the pre-written chapters, so I'd like to know if you guys would prefer faster updates with less content, or slower updates with more.

"We're going on a walk?" repeated Alfred, sounding surprised. "Outside?"

"Something like that," answered Ivan. He didn't bother removing his shoes. "You're coming with me as a precaution. Get your fake body – or, well, whatever that thing is called – and we can head out for phase one of the plan. I'll expect you put it away when we get there to hang back and be my lookout, but it's a little ways away, so you can get some fresh air while we're out. As it is, I'd drive, but I don't want the car to attract unwanted attention. This person, most likely being murdered as we speak, isn't exactly the type to get such low-profile visitors."

"Ooh, sounds like fun!" said Alfred, delightedly stretching his wings. "Being cooped up inside this house all the time is awful! Especially when I can't masturbate." He pouted a little, but Ivan knew better than to give in and let him off the hook. When he doled out punishments, he _meant_ it. If he didn't follow through, people would take his threats less seriously, and he couldn't afford to have such a troublemaking demon be, well, making trouble for him.

"Of course," said Ivan, turning to look Alfred right in the eyes, "there are rules. In public, there won't be any kissing, cuddling, or fondling. While I personally don't care and in fact have a total disregard for such religious conventions, the fact of the matter is that two men doing such things is outside of societal norms, and the majority of countries still find it cause to stare and gossip, if not arrest the apparent offenders outright. The idea is to lay low, and that means staying under the radar. Don't do _anything_ to suggest that we're any more than friends, do you hear me? What we're doing calls for being inconspicuous. While I'm at it, despite the language we're using, we will _not_ speak of what we're doing in public where people can hear, nor of bedroom matters." Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered as much if it were some obscure language only used in a single, tiny third-world country… Actually, no; with his luck, he'd walk by the one person in the nation that knew it _just_ as he brought up tearing out spines.

Alfred had since landed on the ground, his wings drooping again. "Not even a little touching? Like, hand-holding?"

_"No."_

Suddenly, the demon's face lit back up. "Oh! What if I used my other body? I have more than one, ya' know. If I looked like a woman, it wouldn't stand out as much, right?"

Ivan stared at him, perplexed. "You have another body?"

"Well, duh. If I could only seduce _gay_ men, feeding would be so much more troublesome," said Alfred, as though it were obvious. "Granted, vital organs – or at least, demon-specific vital organs – need to be lined up, so I can still only feed from the mouth and ass; other than that, it's pretty much non-functional. But, it gets people off the street and into the bedroom, where I can lace them up with so much aphrodisiac that they don't care if what they're fucking has a pussy or a cock." He licked his lips. "Sometimes I stick around until they wake up in the morning just to see their reaction. Oh! But, yeah, on topic, I can totally appear female in public! Then can I touch you?"

Ivan took a deep breath. "What do you mean by 'touching,' exactly? Because regardless of who's doing it, dry-humping people in public is generally frowned upon in polite society."

"Just innocent stuff, promise!" Alfred assured him. "I just need contact. I mean, I could go without it, if I really had to, but, I mean, it's really hard to completely ignore someone like you when you're right beside me." He leaned on Ivan, pressing his check to his shoulder. "Mm, you've got only yourself to blame. Every time I look at you, I can't stop thinking about how good you are in bed."

Alfred tucked his wings behind him, where they seemed to be absorbed into his back. His horns spiraled down into his skull, and, as was the case before, little marks and flaws began to appear on his skin. New and different, however, were the changes that followed. His chest began to swell, and his hips widened. Ivan was quite thankful Alfred was wearing clothes, tacky though they were; he could only imagine how disturbing the transformation of the bits between his legs looked. His hair stayed short, but his face – was he supposed to keep referring to Alfred with masculine pronouns in such a situation? – was, well, feminine. In case that wasn't enough, his – her? – newfound rack was almost big enough to rival his sister's.

_Almost._

He couldn't lie. It was a flawless disguise. There was no possible way anyone would ever guess that it was actually a male demon underneath it; he supposed he could expect no less from magic. Perhaps it was a little _too_ good, though, because he immediately spotted a problem.

"Alfred," he said, not quite sure how to phrase it in a way that wouldn't stoke the succubus' already over-inflated ego.

'She' giggled and spun around, clearly showing off. "You'll have to call me something else while I'm like this. Hmm, I like Alex. It's masculine, but it's also short for a girl's name…" 'Her' voice was of a somewhat higher pitch than it had been just a moment ago, but somehow it was still distinct and recognizable. He wasn't quite sure if it had actually changed, or if Alfred was just capable of making himself sound relatively androgynous without the use of magic.

"Alfred, you're _too_ beautiful right now," said Ivan bluntly. It was so bizarre to say something like that and not mean it as a compliment. "We'll stand out too much. Can you shrink your bust down a size or two? The D-cups are unnecessary."

Alfred landed silently on the soft blue carpet – it was ridiculous just how rare it was to see him standing on his own two feet – and strolled towards him with a bounce in his step, causing his (her?) assets to jiggle like something out of a cheap porn animation. Or a video game love interest. "Aww, but just think of what your buddies will say! Last time I did this for someone was to bother their ex. Everyone thought he'd netted a supermodel girlfriend! I can turn your friends green with envy!"

Ivan smacked him across the face. "We're trying to lay low! Besides, I don't have any friends."

He wasn't sure why, but suddenly, Alfred seemed to grow very quiet, and the smile fell from his face. Had he gone too far in hitting him? No, no, that couldn't have been it. Alfred wasn't afraid of such minor things. It was far worse than that. Ivan took a step back, not at all appreciative of that pitying look that he was being given. If only he'd stayed quiet. The last thing he needed was to be looked down upon for something so silly.

"No friends?" repeated Alfred, closing the distance between them again. Ivan took another step back, only to find himself against the wall. "Not one?"

"Alfred-"

"Alexandra!"

Ivan sighed. "Alfred, I'm a cold-blooded killer. Any 'friends' I make are just a convenient means to get closer to my target. I don't…" He shook his head. "I don't do well with people. I don't _need_ them."

Alfred giggled, a girlish, high-pitched noise that succeeded in being even more irritating than his usual laugh. "Aww, master, I'm offended! Don't I count as a friend?"

"Don't make me laugh," said Ivan, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're a heartless demon that intends to devour my soul the moment I die. Friends mean nothing in this world. At the end of the day, everyone is out for themselves. The driving force behind love is selfishness." He realized that he was sounding very much like a whiny teenager going on about the world and its harshness, but really, he couldn't help but feel that all those depressed wrist-slicers were on to something as they wrote their corny poetry. "Have you ever heard someone say that they want to find the person that _they're_ right for? To give _them_ eternal happiness? No, of course not. That would be silly. Everyone wants _their_ true love. _Their_ eternal happiness. Emotional connections are built on that 'me, me, me' mentality. Friendship works the same way."

"Really?" said Alfred, back to hovering. It was a borderline comical sight as his false body's massive breasts swayed with his every movement, flopping up towards his head when he flipped upside-down. "Then what about your sisters? This whole crusade of yours is specifically because you care about your family, isn't it?"

Ivan lowered his eyes, unsure of what to say. "She practically raised me," he answered softly. "I'm just repaying a debt."

"Hmm, I wonder," hummed Alfred. He, too, crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking Ivan's position and frowning. "Well, speaking of debts, I'm not one to back out on a deal. A piece of my story for a piece of yours, right?"

Ivan perked up. He'd almost completely forgotten about that. He found himself filled with curiosity, eager to know more about the life of a human-turned-demon. Eager to know what could _possibly_ trigger such a change.

"Well, let's see here," Alfred continued. "Friends. Hm. Did I have friends?" His brow furrowed, like he was straining to remember. "I played with some of the other kids in my town, but I don't really remember any of their names. And siblings? Well, there's Matthew, but we didn't even know about one another until later on. You know. When we became demons." He scratched his chin. "Our mother was an identical twin, herself! But the other one, our aunt, couldn't conceive. At the time, they thought she was infertile, or something, 'cause they always blamed the women back then. Looking back with modern knowledge about genetics, it was most likely her husband who had sperm issues, since her identical sister could have kids just fine. Anyway, like I was saying, he blamed her for the whole thing. Our mother – the real one – was pregnant around the time, and couldn't stand the thought of her sister suffering like that. So when she found out she'd had twins, she made her midwife swear to only tell _her_ husband about one; that one happened to be Matthew. Secretly, gave _me_ to our aunt. Still not quite sure how they managed to clear the whole thing up with the man I grew up calling 'papa,' suddenly having a baby without any signs of there ever having been any signs of a pregnancy, and all. Maybe he had his doubts. He was always…" Suddenly, Alfred cut himself off. "Hey! I'm giving you way more than you gave me! Fuck this, I'm done!"

Ivan reached out and stroked his hair. "Your story-telling abilities leave much to be desired. I'm not sure I follow." It was a confusing and lazily explained tale. "I was a bastard child conceived from a one-night stand that turned into a hasty marriage. Does that make us even?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I guess. Come on, now, story time is over. We have a blood trail to create!"

"Alfred, your body."

Alfred rolled his eyes, and in a burst of flame, his features changed again. His bust was about half the size. While still beautiful, he looked less like he'd just walked off the cover of a magazine. Still, there was something about it that bothered Ivan. Something about those features that looked like something he'd seen before. Like a face from a dream.

"Yes, well, I hope you don't mind walking," said Ivan teasingly. "Seeing as I so rarely see you on the ground."

"I can walk just fine, thank you very much," huffed Alfred, arms crossed. "You wouldn't understand. You haven't flown yet. There's something just so _freeing_ about being off of the ground!" He twirled in the air. "Matthew always learned spells faster than me, but I was flying before he could conjure a puff of smoke!"

"Yet?"

"Well, yeah," said Alfred, nodding. "You're gonna want to learn to hover at some point, aren't you? It's pretty useful. Footstools will be a thing of the past!" He frowned, and set his feet down on the ground, where he gazed up at Ivan. "Hmm, not that you'll ever need one. You've got to be at least six feet tall!"

Ivan rolled his eyes. "Why do you even have wings if you just float everywhere?" He began heading off to the door as he spoke, motioning for Alfred to follow. It was a bit hard to take him seriously when he strolled along with an exaggerated bounce in his step, hips swaying in such a manner that he couldn't help but think that it was obvious he was a phony. Still, Ivan reassured himself, the only reason he could tell was because he knew already. He probably wouldn't have even noticed if he wasn't so used to what Alfred _usually_ looked like.

"Because _hovering_ isn't _flying,"_ explained Alfred, and Ivan could already tell that he was about to go off on a tangent. "Hovering uses up magic. Its top speed is about six miles an hour. It's better suited for more delicate tasks that require flight, but not speed. Flying, on the other hand, is a physical thing. It's faster, and _much_ more satisfying, but you need enough space to stretch your wings, and it tends to screw up carefully-stacked piles of paper that aren't bolted to the ground." Alfred grinned. "If you want, I can fly the both of us over there."

Ivan shook his head and locked the door behind them. "Alfred, I know _you_ can hide yourself, but I can't very well soar about above the town and expect that no one is going to notice."

Alfred slapped him on the back. "Don't be silly! I can cast an invisibility spell! Here, watch!"

Before Ivan could respond, he felt an odd sensation cover his body. The tingling wasn't anything like the aphrodisiacs from before, thankfully. When he looked at his wrist to check the time, he was startled to realize that he couldn't see his hand. Or any part of himself, actually.

Naturally, his first reaction was to scold Alfred.

"You idiot! Imagine if someone had seen that!" said Ivan, about ready to strangle him already. "You _wait for my orders!"_ He immediately looked around in a small panic, concerned that

"Relax," said Alfred, not even flinching. "I checked the surrounding area with magic, and no one is paying any attention to us." His human body burned away, revealing the true form beneath. "Hold on just a second, I have to build up momentum!"

"Hold on? I didn't agree to any of this!" snapped Ivan, but Alfred had already taken a running leap into the air, where he circled around until he was at least forty meters off the ground. His wings, which hadn't seen much use until then, were beating quickly to gain altitude.

"Make a T-shape with your body!" said Alfred, swooping past him.

Ivan hesitated. "Like this?" He stretched out his arms on either side. The answer came in the form of Alfred diving down upon him from behind and hoisting him into the air by wrapping his arms around his waist.

Ivan couldn't stop himself from crying out in surprise. For several seconds after that, he was face down above the ground, traveling at ridiculous speeds just inches above the planet's surface. "What kind of flying is this?" he demanded.

"Sorry, you're heavier than I thought!" laughed Alfred, taking full advantage of the position to nip at Ivan's ear. "I'd better take us up before we crash into someone!"

"On second thought, I rather like it right he-" The sudden forty-degree shift caught him off-guard and silenced him. He could feel his stomach doing flips as they shot upwards. The turbulence from the ascent alone was almost enough to make him ill. His eyes widened as he looked down and realized that they were already halfway to the clouds, and the buildings below were getting smaller every second.

Alfred could smell his unease like a dog would a steak. "What's the matter, master? Scared of heights?"

"Heights I'm fine with," answered Ivan curtly, his voice shakier than he would have liked. "I'm more concerned that you'll drop me."

"Oh, you mean like this?"

Ivan was a proud man, but he would be lying to himself if he tried to pretend that the feeling of Alfred's arms suddenly loosening up and letting him drop hadn't made him scream. He waved about wildly in the air as he plummeted towards the ground, every failure of his life choosing just then to pop into his head and leave him looking back on his regretful existence. Worse still, he was having horrible flashbacks to _that_ incident, before he'd gotten involved in organized crime, when he was a pathetic drunkard on a plane without a parachute, and…

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Haha, woohoo!" said Alfred, who Ivan just noticed was falling head-first beside him, wings folded behind his back.

Alfred grinned sadistically when he noticed that Ivan was too panicked to even glare at him. Instead, he reached out and grabbed the succubus by the arm. If he was going to die, he was dragging that son of a bitch down with him!

"Relax," scoffed Alfred, and he flipped back onto Ivan's back and wrapped his arms around his waist again. "I'm not allowed to kill you. I'll lose the contract! My license, too…"

His wings opened, and Ivan felt like he was being jerked upwards as their descent began to slow, and the angle changed. For several seconds, they were soaring parallel to the earth. Ivan's face was just inches off the ground, but he dared not look up as they narrowly wove through the many pedestrians walking obliviously by. Finally, Alfred's wings began beating again, and they were back up in the air.

Ivan was _not_ in the mood for any more games. "You set me down _right this instant!"_ he barked, his face red with embarrassment and fury. "And _gently,_ you little beast!"

"Guilty as charged," laughed Alfred, diving into an alleyway. His descent was a lot slower, much to Ivan's relief. "You make it too easy! I mean, you totally set yourself up for that one!"

Alfred dropped him rather unceremoniously on the ground. Much as he wanted to kiss the frosted pavement, Ivan took the opportunity to grab his demonic companion by the hair and bash his head repeatedly into the nearby brick wall with as much force as he could muster.

Much to his surprise, he heard a loud and familiar crack. When he pulled Alfred's head back, it was partially caved in, with a red substance that certainly looked like blood spilling down the gash that had opened up. His left eye, which had been on the side of the impact, was partially bulging out.

Any concern he had was quelled when Alfred spoke up, sounding rather annoyed. "Damn it, look at what you did! I'm a mess! This isn't sexy at all! Unless you're into that kind of stuff, anyway, but I usually like to cater to a wider demographic than the guro fetishists."

"I didn't think it would actually do any damage!" said Ivan in his own defense. And what the hell was guro?

"It doesn't, usually," said Alfred, and his tone switched from one of annoyance to one of grudging respect. He began wiping away the blood with his hand. "You're pretty strong, I'll give you that. Do you make a habit of bashing in the skulls of people who annoy you?" Before Ivan could reply, he got in close, still dripping blood and bits of something vaguely resembling a brain. "That really turns me on."

Oddly enough, Ivan couldn't help but find some appeal in the damage he'd caused, but he chalked it up to the fact that he'd gotten some of the 'blood' on his hands, and every single one of Alfred's bodily fluids was some sort of an aphrodisiac. Still, he couldn't allow himself to get distracted.

"No! We're in a hurry, remember?" snapped Ivan. "As it is, you took off without letting me give you directions. You're lucky you just so happened to take us in the right direction! Now put on your body, and let's get out of this alley!"

"No fun at all," said Alfred, disappointed. He brushed his hand against the damaged side of his face, and it began to slowly shift back into place. His eye was sucked back into the socket, the wounds sealed themselves up, and the blood evaporated into a black, smoky substance that dissipated into the air. He folded his wings, and donned the feminine body from before. His attire was familiar; it was the same blue coat with the white fur trim from the day he'd taken him to work. Although the face was still visible, it hid the curves. Granted, the skinny jeans made sure that the body's legs were well-defined for all to see.

Ivan was actually somewhat surprised by how modestly Alfred had dressed. After all the trouble he'd put him through, he'd expected him to look like a stripper who'd gotten lost on their way to work. "Alright, we're going to have to leave this alley without being noticed. Do you think you can manage that much?"

Alfred scoffed. "Look, master, I've been around long enough to know that people won't notice anything short of somebody getting stabbed in front of them as long as they feel it isn't their problem. Watch."

Before Ivan could stop him, Alfred had already slipped out and flawlessly merged with the crowd. Rolling his eyes, he followed after him and hurried to catch up. He wouldn't deny that Alfred was good at understanding people when he wanted to be, but he _still_ had no idea where he was going.

"Other way," he said, tugging Alfred off across the street.

"Yeah, yeah, I've got it. Lead the way," said Alfred, crossing his arms over his assets; although bound by the coat, they were still very noticeable.

"Couldn't you have at least worn a bra?" asked Ivan.

"Look, I'm a succubus in clothes. What more do you want from me?" snapped Alfred right back.

Ivan rolled his eyes, and they continued down the street, weaving through pedestrians. Much to Ivan's relief, they didn't seem to be attracting to much attention. Well, there were a few who spent a bit longer than necessary ogling what they must have believed to be his girlfriend, but no one was at all suspicious that they were up to something. Good. All he had to do was-

"Ivan!"

 _Shit._ Was that Anya? From work? He hadn't counted on her being there. What was she doing there? He knew everything about the schedules of his coworkers – _everything_ – and she only ever went grocery shopping on Monday!

"Ivan!" she said again, running up to him. "Fancy seeing you here! I hardly ever see you out of work, and even then, it's only for work-related business! What've you been up to? I don't think we've spoken since the other day, when Dmitri, well, you know."

Ivan managed a smile, and pulled Alfred in close. The succubus didn't appear to mind. "Oh, just out for a walk. And you?"

Anya appeared quite surprised. "Oh my! Ivan, I never knew you had a wife! Hello, there! It's a pleasure to meet you!"

Ivan laughed and shook his head, hiding his feelings of awkwardness well. "Oh, no, she's not my wife. We're just… In a relationship." He liked half-truths. It made it easier to keep his story straight and cover slip-ups. "She can't understand what you're saying. She's not from here."

"Oh? Where is she from, then?" asked Anya, interest piqued. She'd always been a nosy sort.

What had Alfred wanted to be called, again? "Alexandra is from the United States. We, ah, met on the internet." It certainly wasn't business-related. His new job didn't let him travel like before.

Anya bounced excitedly up and down. "Oh! Oh! My aunt lives there! I can speak a little English!" It was then that Ivan knew he was going to be stuck there for a little while. She switched languages, pronunciation just a touch off. Her greeting sounded like something straight out of a beginning language book, but he supposed that was because she didn't speak it too often, or with many native speakers. "Hello! My name is Anya! I'm very pleased to meet you!" He really, _really_ had to go, but in a way that wasn't suspicious.

Alfred perked up at the sound of a language he recognized, and began speaking almost immediately. "Oh my gosh! I haven't spoken to anyone but Ivan and my brother since I got here!" he said excitedly, speaking at a high speed that it was clear Anya was struggling to keep up with. "Hi there, Anya! I'm Alex! It's great to finally meet someone else I can talk to! I know I should really learn the language, but I keep flunking out of every single language class I take. Mattie says it's because I keep switching around instead of picking one and sticking with it, but I think he's just trying to make me feel bad because he speaks French and English. There's nothing to be ashamed of about being monolingual, right? Wait, it _is_ called that, isn't it? Umm, hang on, I wonder if I can Google that. Did I bring my phone? Shit, hang on, I'll get it in a second!"

Anya stared at him blankly, and it was clear she'd given up on deciphering any of what he'd said by the halfway point. She switched back to Russian and turned to Ivan. "Umm, I don't suppose you could-"

"She said hi," simplified Ivan.

Anya smiled and nodded. "Well, it's been fun, but I have to go pick up my friend's dog. She's going away to see a relative in Lithuania, you see, so I'll be pet-sitting for the next week. I'll see you around, Ivan!"

"Have a good day," answered Ivan, and he sighed with relief as she left. Thank God for Alfred's intelligible speech mannerisms. He turned to the demon in question, switching back to English. "I don't understand how she can be so perky all the time. Her job is just as boring as mine."

"It's her day off, isn't it? Of course she's gonna be happy," said Alfred, shrugging. "Besides, most normal people would appreciate having a stable job. She's got a life outside work. You could be that happy if you changed up your routine, a bit. You never go out with anyone, or do anything. Of course life is gonna feel monotonous if you spend most of it in the house."

Ivan was tempted to whack him, but he didn't want anyone thinking he was some sort of an abusive boyfriend. "Well, _you're_ definitely new and different. Besides, I have more important things to worry about than my social life." Like what he was going to do to those who betrayed him. Oh, the possibilities! Maybe he could leave them in a slowly-filling tank, giving them just enough time to contemplate their death before they drowned. "Sometimes I visit the library on the weekends."

"Yes, yes, but do you have any _friends?"_ asked Alfred. "Or even just _a_ friend? How about _pretend_ friends? Lots of psychopaths have pretend friends. Aren't you non-empathetic types supposed to be manipulative charmers?"

"I'm not mentally ill," said Ivan, shaking his head and resolving to whack him later, when no one else was around. "I used to think I was. Then I realized that it was everyone else who was naturally repulsed by me. It's not me who's the problem. It's them."

Alfred looked at him quizzically, but shrugged off his obvious disbelief. "That Anya chick seemed to like you. Hmm, but if you're not suffering from antisocial, it sounds sort of like mild schizophrenia. Or paranoid personality disorder. Or whatever the hell they're calling it now; this whole psychology thing is a relatively new field of study. I'm sure it'll be totally different in fifty years when people look back and think about how complicated and stupid the current system is. Like everything else."

Ah, an opportunity to change the subject. "So, you're a historian of sorts, aren't you?" asked Ivan. "What was it like back in the days of swordfights and myth?"

"Hey, I'm not that old! Guns may have been less efficient than a bow at the time, but we had 'em," said Alfred, bumping him with his shoulder. "It's not like I lived during the days of knights and dragons." He grinned. "I would have made an awesome knight."

"Hm, I guess not. Even so," said Ivan, quieting his voice a little and waiting until the crowds cleared to speak. "It must have been very different from modern times. Nuclear warfare wasn't even a concept. Traveling across the ocean was a lengthy and dangerous process."

"Oh, ha ha," said Alfred, looking like he wasn't sure whether to find that humorous, or to take it as an insult. "That was the height of technology, at the time! Just you wait. In a couple hundred years, people are gonna look back on the present and laugh at how primitive you are now! 'Haha, look at these old videos of those losers from so long ago! They were still struggling with whether or not to legalize gay marriage! I'm so glad we aren't anything like those cavemen!' "

"A fair enough point," Ivan conceded. "You can't deny that there have been significant improvements, though." Not that he particularly cared about politics, given the whole 'killer for hire' thing. He just couldn't let Alfred get the last word in. "Still, I don't think anyone in any reasonably progressive nation misses the hangings and the witch trials."

He'd meant it as a light-hearted, ironic jest, but Alfred's eyes suddenly grew very distant as he walked. "Yeah. No one misses those," he said in a hollow voice. Ivan was tempted to ask if something was wrong, but out of nowhere, the life seemed to snap back into him. "Man, you'd never believe what those dicks in Salem are doing today. I'm as capitalist as they come, but turning a tragedy into some commercial scheme is just classless."

Ivan blinked. "Salem?"

Alfred stared back just as blankly for a moment, and asked, "What, you don't know about that? Everyone back home learns about the Salem Witch Trials."

"I slept through my world history classes," lied Ivan, scouring his brain for memories of the few classes he'd actually attended for memories of those key words. Like hell he was going to let on anything that even hinted at his history of poor grades. "Besides, if it was ever taught, I doubt it would have been emphasized as much as it is over in America! It's not like you know the first thing about Russian history. Don't get on my case for not knowing about a single event from some other nation's history!"

"Geez, sensitive much?" said Alfred, a sly smile on his face. "I wasn't trying to make fun of you. You're right, I don't know shit about Russian history. Something about Sunday and lots of violence, I think, and some invasion and a bunch of snow way earlier than that that did something to make the invasion fail, and I think horses were involved... Look, they didn't even understand the concept of a fair trial when I was a mortal, do you really think they taught us anything about a country across the sea that had nothing to do with our tiny little town?" He rolled his eyes and placed a hand on Ivan's shoulder. "Anyway, long story short, a lot of innocent people were executed for witchcraft in a very short amount of time. It was a perfect demonstration of just how much God cares, and an even better example of human stupidity."

Ivan couldn't help but notice that something was off. "You sound rather passionate about this."

"I'm a demon," said Alfred flatly. "I'm incapable of feeling any other way."

"I suppose," said Ivan, not really buying that it was that simple. "My older sister believes that life is just a test to see whether or not you'll use your free will to do good or evil. Perhaps she's right."

"Pretty skewed test, that," scoffed Alfred. "It's like giving three kids a quiz on addition and subtraction, while the other seven get advanced calculus."

"I liked calculus." He had always been better at math and science than the humanities.

"Well, you're failing pretty hard right now," Alfred pointed out.

Ivan shrugged. "If I asked her, she'd probably say that it's because passing the test isn't about getting a high score, but trying your best and not cheating on the way there."

"Sure, you tell the starving hobo with a brain tumor that he can't steal a bit of money for dinner."

"I never said I agreed," said Ivan, shrugging. "I've never cared much for religion. I haven't read any of the holy books, and the only times I've ever gone to church have been when my sister dragged me there as a child."

Alfred nodded sympathetically. "My dad always made me go. They took Sunday really seriously back then. No playing, or running, or even saddling up the horses, 'cause apparently that was more work than walking all the way to church on foot. There used to be this poor kid down the road who we always passed on the way there. He was always half-starved, and looked like he would die any day, if it weren't for the charity of some of our neighbors. I think I remember someone telling me that his parents had dumped him 'cause they couldn't afford to keep feeding him. Never went to church; the pastor wouldn't let him in. I always sort of envied him."

"You'd have taken starvation over having to go to church?"

"I was a little kid!" said Alfred quickly. "You think little kids look at things rationally?"

Ivan pinched his cheek and snickered. "I bet you were just _adorable."_

"Hey!" said Alfred, slapping his hand away. "I _was_ adorable, thank you very much. Well, at least I was once you got past the fact that we didn't really bathe back then. But I'd bet you'd have barely noticed the smell once you saw how cute I was!"

"Seeing as I'm not a pedophile, I think I prefer you how you are now."

"I could make one out of you if I wore a kid's body," joked Alfred. When Ivan gave him a disgusted look, he shrugged and grinned. "I'd say I'm going to Hell for that joke, but, well, yeah."

Ivan breathed into his hands and rubbed them together as the cold air nipped at his face and ears. He almost missed the ridiculous heat that Matthew had alleviated. It was freezing outside, and though he tried pulling his scarf up over his face, it could only do so much. "I should have worn my earmuffs," he said regretfully as they crossed the next intersection.

Alfred reached into his coat pocket as though there were something in it. Ivan could see a subtle little flash of flame, like something being teleported into or out of it. When Alfred pulled his hand out, he was holding a furry white had with ear flaps. "Here, I think these are popular here. And if that's just a stereotype, well, I like them, anyway."

Ivan took the hat and examined it carefully, convinced there was some horrific twist to such a nice act. "What's this made out of?"

"Baby harp seal fur," answered Alfred, grinning like a maniac. "They're so fluffy, aren't they?"

"Baby harp seals."

"You know, the little fluffy white ones?"

"Of course." Ivan stared at the hat for another long moment, shrugged, and placed it on his head anyway. "How loudly did they squeak when you killed them?"

Alfred jumped and looked at him with horrified eyes. "KILL them? I could never kill an animal as cute and innocent as a baby harp seal!" he said, shaking his head wildly and staring at Ivan as though _he_ were the horned demon. "I just shaved a couple that were in captivity – didn't stick around to see what their keepers said – and wove it into a hat. My mom started teaching me how to weave when I was just four years old!"

"I thought weaving was seen as a feminine thing."

Alfred looked away and blushed. "Weaving is totally manly, shut up."

Ivan wanted so much to pester him further, to push Alfred's buttons in the same way his were pressed and taped down every day since he'd made the contract. Sadly, though, it appeared that they'd arrived at their destination, a fenced-in home. Ivan quickly scanned the area for any hints that there was someone still there, just in case they'd arrived like, but no. They were long gone, and the police would probably be around to investigate once the man living – or, rather that HAD lived – there failed to show up to work for a few days in a row.

It was an easy target; he'd been on the division that had scoped it out. All the street cameras were all angled in such a way that it was impossible to see who was entering from the back, and who was just passing by. The wife was visiting her in-laws. The children had long since moved out. The man inside was, at that moment, sitting electrocuted in the bath, the precariously-placed hair dryer floating just inches from his open hand. He'd slipped and fallen in as it was draining, with the hair dryer in his hand, electrocuting himself. It was, for all intents and purposes, a freak accident.

But they weren't there to go inside.

"You remember the plan, correct?" asked Ivan.

"Of course. Walk around the back all casual-like and break one of the big windows."

"Ssh! But yes," said Ivan, glancing around to make sure no one had been alerted. "Can you do that with magic?" Once foul play was suspected, they would check the cameras. Although the front wasn't visible, he didn't want them putting two and two together if they noticed it took he and Alfred longer to get from the camera on one side to the camera on the other than anyone else.

"We could have just come here invisible."

"You drained yourself enough with that flying stunt, and we can't just disappear from the middle of the street."

They were coming up on the bend.

"I can't believe we came all this way to do one damned thing," muttered Alfred. They rounded the block, and neared the blind spot.

"Remember, keep it as quiet as possible. Try not to alert anyone else."

Alfred lifted his hand out of his pocket. "Got it. Just gotta wait until no one is looking."

Ivan nodded. How did that hypersensitivity spell go, again? He muttered the incantation under his breath. Alfred could do it himself, but he wanted to get some field practice in before he ended up in a situation where he needed it.

 _"Miv."_ Capable of seeing the caster. _"Oan."_ All. _"Dralva."_ Steal gaze.

The resulting flood of new sensation almost overwhelmed him.

Everything that anyone whose presence he wasn't obscured to by some object in the way, he could see through their eyes. At least twenty eight different pairs of eyes, all looking in different directions, at different things. He was processing them all at once, and it was sending his mind into overdrive just trying to keep up with what was happening. He nearly tripped over his own feet trying to keep track of it all. The pavement and the ants crawling across it in search of food. The clouds and the little V of birds cutting through them. The little toddler in its stroller and the hand reaching down to give it a bottle. Himself, as he clutched his head and collapsed on the icy ground. Himself, again, as heads spun towards him, and a handful of concerned strangers hurried over to ask him if he was okay. Unable to stand it any longer, he closed his hand into a fist, ending the spell.

He was barely aware of anything anymore, not even the prickling cold against his cheek, which he couldn't find it in him to lift up out of the slush. He couldn't see a thing, though his eyes were open, swirling about in the sockets in search of light. Ivan was motionless on the ground for several moments more, until at last he felt someone lifting him up and brushing the muddy slurry of snow off of his face with soft mittens. When they set him down again, his head was resting on someone's leg, and he was back was still against the pavement. A familiar voice cut through the babbling, and he recognized that Alfred was trying valiantly to explain away the issue to people he couldn't communicate with.

"He's fine, really, just dehydrated!" Alfred tried to assure them. Although his Russian vocabulary was obviously minimal, he was clearly attempting to say something in what little he knew. _"Is okay health!"_

At last, Ivan opened his mouth to speak, though his voice was weak, and he was a bit woozy. "I'm fine," he assured them, and his vision slowly faded back into being, though he was limited to shadowy silhouettes. It was Alfred's leg that his head was resting on, a small crowd of curious onlookers hovering over him. "Really."

"Are you sure?" a feminine voice asked. "I can call-"

"I'm fine!" said Ivan again, a little louder that time. He gradually hoisted himself up. Alfred took his hand and helped him to his feet. "I think we'll be going home now, though." He could only hope that Alfred had gotten the job done, because he couldn't see well enough to check.

"Alright, well, if you're sure. Take care, now."

At last, the nosy strangers dispersed, and Ivan started off back in the direction of his home, walking slowly as he tried to regain his balance.

"Next time," said Alfred, placing a quick kiss on his cheek, "you may want to try 'mov,' for 'people looking at the caster' instead of 'miv,' especially your first few times. You'll still know who's looking at you, and there won't be as much to focus on. That way you can just wait until you can't see through anyone else's eyes, which means no one is looking in your direction."

Ivan rubbed his temples, a bit embarrassed, but grateful for the advice. "Thank you."

"No problem. That's why I'm here, isn't it?" said Alfred, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. "Nice job drawing away attention, though. Getting that thing done was a piece of cake." He reached up towards Ivan's face and batted some of the frozen crystals out of his bangs. "I wish I could just teleport us back. You look like you could use a warm bath."

Ivan rolled his eyes. "You just like seeing me without any clothes."

"You're covered in mud and snow," Alfred retorted. "And that spell took more out of you than it did me; your body hasn't adjusted to magic well enough yet to handle that kind of power. I'll run a bath while you get undressed."

It didn't take magic for Ivan to detect some ulterior motives, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I don't suppose I could get a shoulder massage, while you're at it?"

Alfred pinched his cheek, though Ivan quickly batted his hand away. "I could never turn down the chance to touch you. You just sit back and let me work my magic."

"You're still barred from orgasm."

Though Alfred's smile tightened, he nodded. "Oh, yeah? We'll see about that."

Ivan immediately picked up on the challenge in those words. "You think you can get me to change my mind?" He smirked down at Alfred and patted his head. "How precious." Alfred had a burning need to show people up, and he wasn't going to turn down the chance to manipulate that trait to his advantage.

"Hell yeah, I can!" said Alfred confidently. "I'll pamper you into submission! You'll see!"

"With no aphrodisiacs?"

"Who needs those when you have skill?" said Alfred, puffing out his well-endowed chest. "I've had hundreds of years of training in the art of seduction. You'll be so relaxed that, umm, you'll be _really_ relaxed!"

"Oh, no, please stop, you've got me shaking in my boots."

"You'll see!" said Alfred, his voice a little eerie in its sureness. "I'll be so amazing that you'll _have_ to reward me!"

"I sincerely doubt that," said Ivan. Not that he was going to complain if Alfred was really going to go to such great lengths to redeem himself.

"Just you wait!" said Alfred, pulling a notepad and a pen out of his pocket that Ivan was positive hadn't been there before. "Let's see, I'll need this, this, that…"

Ivan rolled his eyes. "Just try not to make a mess of things."


	6. Winter's Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred chats up Ivan, who looks back on his childhood as the son of a nameless killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Sorry that took so long, readers. And it's not even as long as usual. My apologies. There was a convention last weekend, and I suffered a bit of burnout, to the point of not really wanting to write because I was so mentally fatigued. Funny how three days of almost no sleep and one meal a day can do that to you. It was fun, though. :D Even if only a handful of people recognized my Paranoia Agent cosplay. Anyway, I've noticed that the plot has been moving a little slow. We're six chapters in, and it feels like very little progress has been made. If I ever re-write this after it's done, I'll try to fix the pacing. In the meantime, I promise that the plot is going to start moving soon. Thank you in advance, and remember to be critical! Seriously. Please. I don't care if it's just a typo. Nitpick all you want. I wish to improve. XD

As soon as they were inside, Alfred’s female body burned away, and he teleported off, presumably to go run a bath as he’d said. 

Ivan took a moment before finally removing his clothes.  There was still a chill lurking under his skin from the nippy air.  He would never understand why his father claimed to love the winter so.  It was cold, and wet, and he always slipped on the ice and fell to the ground once or twice a year.  As though that weren’t enough, he was sure that he would have to shovel the driveway out another six times before the season ended.  It was, without a doubt, his least favorite season.

He sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples when he noticed that his earlier fall had soaked his scarf, leaving him to peel it from his neck.  It was soaked with dirty water, and would have to be washed.  Ivan set it on the table in the corner by the lamp, where it formed a small puddle around the fabric; he would have Alfred take care of it later.  His silver coat, too, he simply left hanging in the corner, even though it would have to go through the wash before he could wear it again.

His socks were damp and uncomfortable, and joined the scarf on the table.  The black boots were left to sit by the door.  He closed the drapes and took the remainder of his clothes off right there in the entryway, where he wrapped them up into a ball and tossed them into a corner.  Ivan was ordinarily a meticulous person about such things – one couldn’t be sloppy when they killed someone, after all – but right then, he was too tired to bother.

Cold and damp, he headed up the stairs, where he heard the water running.  He was sure there would be some nasty twist when he finally entered the room Alfred was lurking; perhaps it was a bath of flammable oil, and he’d lit it on fire.  Or maybe he’d filled the tub with magma.  What he hadn’t expected were bubbles, which Alfred was playing with like a small child.

“Hey, check it out!” he told Ivan, sitting on the toilet seat and showing off his shiny, popping beard.  “I hope you don’t mind.  I just couldn’t resist adding some bubbles to the mix.”

“Where did you even get those?” asked Ivan, though he honestly wasn’t too concerned.  Just so long as they weren’t harmful.  Suspicious, he reached in and poked some of the foam, just to make sure it was safe.

“I teleported it in from Hell, duh,” said Alfred, as though it were obvious.  “I keep all sorts of this kind of stuff at my place.”

“But you don’t even like water!” Ivan pointed out.  He wasn’t even sure if Alfred’s ass had healed up from the snow-punishment he’d administered not too long ago.  “Why do you need bubble soap in Hell?”

“For moments like this,” answered Alfred plainly.  “I like having people cover themselves up with them so I can pop all the bubbles until the goodies are revealed!”

It figured it was for something like that.  Ivan just shook his head and stepped into the water, the level of which continued to rise until Alfred turned the knob off.  It was just a high enough temperature without being painfully hot.  As much a relief as it was to finally get a chance to relax, he still couldn’t help but feel like there was some catch.  Surely Alfred wasn’t doing everything he was doing just to have a tiny chance at getting his orgasm privileges back early.

For one who hated the water, Alfred didn’t seem to mind reaching in and plunging his hands in it to retrieve the bottle of shampoo that fell in.  He squeezed a glob of it onto his hands and motioned to the water.  “Well, what are you waiting for?  Wet your hair.”

“Alfred, I’m not a child, I can wash my own hair.”

“Lots of adults can wash themselves, and they go to the spa anyway.”

“I’m not a _woman,_ Alfred,” he muttered, though he dipped his head under the water anyway.

“What, you think only ladies are allowed to be pampered?” asked Alfred, and he began to scrub the soap into his hair.  “Geez, Ivan.  I was born before women were allowed to vote, and even _I’m_ not that sexist.”

“Oh, God forbid a serial killer spouts stereotypes,” murmured Ivan.  Still, he couldn’t deny that the feeling of Alfred’s fingers working away at his head was somewhat pleasant, almost like a mini-massage.  It certainly explained his older sister’s fondness for such things, at least.  “Truly, implying that the spa is a feminine thing is the worst thing I’ve ever done in the history of my life.”

It was Alfred’s turn to roll his eyes.  “Strange.  You know, you don’t seem like that bad of a guy, once you take away the ‘murderer’ thing.  Why’d you become an assassin, anyway?” he asked, sounding so casual about it.  “Hold on, put your head under the faucet and unplug the drain…”

Ivan’s brow furrowed, and he shrugged.  “It’s certainly not the sort of thing I imagined myself doing when I was young.  But things happen.  Plans change.  If I’d grown up in another family, who knows?  Maybe I would have come out normal.”  He thought for a moment as he allowed the faucet to rinse the soap from his hair.  “No.  That’s not right.  This path I’ve taken was inevitable from the beginning.  Where I came from only made it easier.”

“Oh?  How do you figure that?”

He shrugged.  “For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been, well, _different_ from everyone else.  And I don’t mean to say that I was some special little snowflake.  It’s a bad different.  Like there’s something that every last person on the planet possesses but me.”  Ivan’s face reddened, just a bit.  “I know this must sound silly, but…”

“No, go on.”

Alfred sounded sincere.  Well, as sincere as a demon could be, anyway.  Ivan chose to continue.

“I couldn’t understand them.  Their feelings.  Their likes.  Their dislikes.  Their hobbies.  Their ability to tolerate the fact that they did the same thing every damned day, with the same people.”  The faucet was turned off, and Alfred had taken to massaging his shoulders; still, he seemed to be listening even as he did so.  “My meager people skills came from the analysis and memorization of their behavioral patterns.  But even then, the ruse only lasted so long.  I thought I would find solace in the handful of false friendships I made, but they always seemed to figure out just how hollow I am on the inside at some point or another, and gradually drifted away.”  Ivan leaned back and pulled his knees up to his chest.  “My mother couldn’t stand any of us, but she hated me the most.  I was one of those children who would pull the wings off of flies for entertainment.  At least Yekaterina would always help out with the chores and present herself well to company.  Even Natalya was better with people than I was, messed up in the head though she is.  Me, though?  I was a problem child, if there ever was one.  Were it not for my father, she probably would have abandoned me somewhere.  I don’t make friends organically.  I interact with people on an artificial level, like a robot with only a handful of conversation branches.”

Alfred’s thumbs pressed into his flesh, careful to keep from scratching him with sharp nails.  “Really?  Funny,” he said, sparing a moment to nip his ear.  “I haven’t noticed any of these things.”

“I don’t have to hide things from you.  You’re bound to me for the rest of my life.  You’re incapable of betrayal.”

“Maybe you never had to hide from them, either.  Maybe they’d like you if you were just yourself.”

“Myself?” repeated Ivan, smiling.  “Do you think this is some sort of movie?  That such clear-cut notions honestly work in the real world?  Tell me, Alfred, what would you think of me if you were still human?  If you still had a soul?  Would you find it as entertaining that I need to kill people?”

Alfred shrugged.  “I don’t know.  You still haven’t told me why you kill people to begin with.”

“Because,” said Ivan, staring at the wall in front of him.  “It makes that empty feeling go away.  Just for a little while.”  He rolled his shoulders back into Alfred’s hands.  “A little lower…”

“Empty feeling, huh?” said Alfred.  “Hm.  You tried taking any pills for that?”

“All of them,” answered Ivan, nodding.  “All kinds.  All brands.  Antidepressants, anxiolytics, antipsychotics… All of them worthless.”

“Therapy?”

“I’ve gone through more kinds of therapy than I could reasonably be expected to remember.”

Alfred leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his chest from behind.  “Aww, you poor thing…”

Ivan snorted and pushed his arms off so he could turn around.  “And you?  I’ve told you about my family.  It’s your turn, now.”

“Hmm…” said Alfred, looking contemplative.  “I wish I could say I knew how you felt, but I didn’t have a problem relating to people.”

“Didn’t?”

“It takes awhile to figure it out again,” answered Alfred.  “You know, when you lose your soul.  When mine was shattered, I felt a lot like you’re describing.  That’s why demons eat souls.  It makes us feel complete again, if only for a little while.”  He grinned.  “You didn’t think we just did it for shits and giggles, did you?”

“Then why do you prefer the souls of sinners?”

Alfred leaned over the side of the tub.  “We want to feel complete, but not pure.  Too much purity is like a really, REALLY spicy pepper.  It hurts the whole way down and leaves you a bit numb.”

That made enough sense, he supposed.  “I see…”

“So anyway,” continued Alfred.  “I was always pretty gregarious.  At least as long as my father wasn’t around.”

“Why is that?”

Alfred appeared to ignore him in favor of continuing.  “I was very talkative – shocker, right? – and I used to play marbles with all of the other kids.  I kicked ass at it, too.  We would play all sorts of make-believe games, and I would always be the hero coming to the rescue of the damsel in distress.  Heh, I think we used my neighbor’s dog as the fair maiden, if I remember correctly.”

“Surely there was something about you that was different or unusual,” pressed Ivan.  “How did you become a demon?”

The smile faded from Alfred’s face.  “I fell off the beaten path.  My father used to read me bits and pieces of the Bible, and I wasn’t as content to accept it as it was.  How can something be loving, and yet turn you to salt for failing to heed one little command?  Or rain plagues down on the innocent for the actions of their leader?  How can something so cruel and unmerciful be kind and forgiving?  I didn’t understand.  I still don’t.”

Ivan cocked his head to the side.  “That can’t be all there is to it.”

“Of course not.  Otherwise there would be a lot of demons in modern times, right?  When there are so many beliefs, and so many people who aren’t religious at all; nothing happens to them.  Not now,” murmured Alfred.  “But I wasn’t born in modern times.”

Ivan was tempted to ask for more on the matter, but Alfred appeared rather strained, so he thought better of it.  He was getting closer to the truth.  He would squeeze out the details sooner or later.  Until then… “What was your mother like, Alfred?”

Finally, Alfred seemed to brighten up a little.  “Oh, she was amazing.  It’s really a shame she wasn’t born later.  She was the sort of person who’d have accomplished a lot if she’d been a man.  It’s really sad that she had to live through an age where women couldn’t even wear pants.”  He looked sad again.  “But there’s no helping it, is there?”

It probably wasn’t the best question to ask right then, but… “Do you miss her?”

“Always.”

“So where-”

“Let’s just say I won’t be seeing her again anytime soon.”

Ivan frowned.  “I’m sorry.”

Alfred’s shoulders were sagging, and he looked a bit like a wilted flower.  It was clear that the discussion had taken a bit of a toll on him.  “Sometimes I wonder if she misses me, you know?  I wonder what paradise is, and how she can be so happy knowing what happened to me.  Or even _not_ knowing, and wondering why I never showed up.”

It was a strange feeling in Ivan’s chest.  Never before had he genuinely wanted to comfort someone.  Alas, he had nothing to say that could make it better.  No words of wisdom to patch the wounds.  He pressed his damp hand to Alfred’s warm face and forced himself to smile.  “It’s funny.  This whole situation, I mean.  I know in my head how dangerous you are.  I know that I shouldn’t trust you.”  He unplugged the drain and let the water flee the tub.  “And yet…”

“Of course you can trust me,” said Alfred, as though it were obvious.  “I can’t betray you.”

“Until I die.”

Alfred clumsily attempted to steer the conversation away from that topic.  “Hey, come on.  I promised you a night of pampering, didn’t I?”  He pressed his lips to Ivan’s cheek, soft as silk, and for a moment, the mortal couldn’t help but wonder how many cocks had been inside of it, or how many times they’d been kissed and nipped by since-deceased strangers.  Strangers whose souls had been devoured by the same gaping maw.

It was easier to forget than he’d thought it would have been barely a week prior.  He was equal parts grateful that he wasn’t made to worry, and horrified that Alfred could so easily disarm him.  “You could be feeding me lies right now to put me at ease.”

“You ordered me not to lie.”

Of course.  Ivan exhaled, and pressed his fingers against his forehead.  Everything Alfred did, it was because of their contract.  “Alfred, do me a favor.”

“Anything, sir,” said Alfred, sitting precariously on the side of the tub.  “Your wish is my command.”

“Go make dinner.”

Alfred leaned over him; the droplets of water on the both of them evaporated into the air.  “What kind?”

"I don’t care.”

“Hm…”

“So long as it isn’t poisonous or otherwise inedible,” Ivan quickly amended.

“Aww.”

Alfred vanished in a flash of smoke; he seemed to have a thing for showy exits.  Ivan rolled his eyes and got up to begin dressing himself.  He typically just went to bed naked or in his underwear – after all, he lived alone – but Alfred made him want to bundle up in those silly sunflower pajamas his sister had made for him so many years ago.

Oh, his older sister.  What would she say if she knew what he’d done?  Would she be able to forgive him?  She always had, in the past.  Even when she’d walked in on him covered in blood from his latest kill.  She’d cried, of course.  Begged him to stop.  But she never called the police.  Poor Yekaterina, always convinced that he would one day repent, and everything would be fixed.  At least she would have a chance at eternal happiness.  Him and Natalya, not so much.

Dried and clothed, he headed down the stairs.  None of the lights were on, something he found a little unusual.  When he got to the table, he noticed that the curtains were drawn; the only light in the room came from a handful of candles that Alfred had set out on the table.

Alfred was, bizarrely enough, in clothes again, albeit ones that showed as much skin as he could get away with; although he was wearing a pair of tightly-fitting white boxer shorts, his upper body was covered by nothing but a red apron with white polka dots.

“I think this is your most unattractive look yet,” said Ivan from the doorway.  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen something so tacky.”

“It takes a lot of magic actively suppressing my own aphrodisiacs so you don’t get aroused,” answered Alfred without turning to face him.  He had somehow managed to procure the biggest chicken Ivan had ever seen; after magically plucking every last feather from its body, he proceeded to lop off its head with a bit too much zeal and began to cook it in the air, out of the oven, over a floating, unholy flame.  “So I figured I’d make myself less attractive to make it easier on me.”

“You _do_ realize you have to wait for that chicken to cook, don’t you?”

Within seconds, it was a perfect golden brown, and Alfred looked at him smugly.

“My mentor – my other, kitchen-savvy mentor – taught my brother and I that one.”

“You have two?” inquired Ivan.

“Francis, of France,” said Alfred, casually laying out meat and vegetables on the plate in an arrangement that looked to be copied straight from a dinner menu.  “He refused to let us become as ‘deadly with a spatula’ as Arthur.  So, even though I couldn’t make my own recipes or improvise if my life depended on it, I memorized a couple simple ones.  I go way bigger on the portion sizes than him, though,” added Alfred, plating at least four serving sizes of bird meat.  “And I still get a little woozy whenever he gets someone to eat those snails of his.  Blech.”

“I’ve been to some French restaurants before; Escargot is actually quite delicious,” said Ivan, looking warily down at his plate; he couldn’t deny that it looked good, but he couldn’t afford to gain too much weight at such a delicate point in his life.  He had to stay in shape if he wanted to be able to kill people and successfully flee the scene.  “Quite a few people would say the same about a diet that consists mainly of semen that you do about snails.”

“Touch _é_ ,” said Alfred, taking a seat on his lap, which failed to surprise Ivan.  “Here.  Don’t move.  I’ve got it.”

Alfred reached out and slowly cut a piece of turkey from the oddly elegant-looking pile on the plate.  He stabbed it with the fork and pressed it to Ivan’s lips.

“This is silly,” said Ivan, but Alfred took the opportunity to push it past his lips while they were open to speak.

“Sssssh.  You’ve had a long day,” said Alfred softly, a lusty smile on his face.  “You deserve a break.”

“I prefer to eat my food _myself,_ thank- _mmph!”_ he said unappreciatively as Alfred continued to shovel food in his mouth.  He swallowed as quickly as he could so as to speak before Alfred got another bite ready.  “This isn’t sexy at all!”

“Oh?” said Alfred, licking his lips.  He placed a piece of broccoli and placed it between his own teeth, and pressed their foreheads together.  The hint was obvious.  All the same, Ivan was not amused.

“If we were eating something like ice cream, perhaps this would be more attractive.  As it is, though, you’re in a tacky outfit, and broccoli is one of the least sexy foods tha-”

Alfred pressed the vegetable into his mouth, and hitched his arms over Ivan’s shoulders.  He swallowed, and it slid down his throat, a place that a certain someone’s wandering tongue was desperately trying to follow.  Against his better judgment, he closed his eyes and slid his own hands over Alfred’s body.  The clothing had vanished, allowing him complete access.  The demon boldly nipped at his tongue and lower lip, but his teeth never drew blood.

It was only when just the right amount of time had elapsed that Alfred broke them apart; it had been long and passionate, but not so much so that Ivan was left gasping for breath.

“Francis always told me that _anything_ can be sexy,” said Alfred, his sweet breath hot on Ivan’s cheek.  “It’s just a matter of skill.”

“Cheater.  You have magic.”

“You ordered me not to use any aphrodisiacs on you,” retorted Alfred.  “Sorry, master.  I’m just _that_ good.”

Ivan sighed and smiled.  “Well, if you let me eat in peace, maybe I’ll be more inclined to have some fun with you.”  He had to be in good shape for what he’d done before what he very much hoped was a temporary job, so he’d never been one to eat light.  That said, he probably wasn’t going to finish off the whole plate.

Alfred reluctantly gave him back his fork and knife and got up out of the chair, but he spun around to the back to resume a similar massage to the one he’d been giving in the bathroom.  “You never let me have any fun.”

“I wouldn’t mind letting you have fun if your idea of a good time involved something other than inconveniencing me,” said Ivan between bites.  He relaxed into Alfred’s touch.  “Although I admit, you’ve been doing an excellent job being slightly less annoying than usual tonight.”

Alfred traced his fingers down the numerous scars on his back.  “Hmm, you like blood, right?”

“I enjoy the sight of a massacred corpse as much as any serial killer,” answered Ivan.  “I don’t usually get to play around, though, for reasons I’ve already explained to you; the more blood you leave, the more evidence they have.”

“Such a shame,” said Alfred, working his thumbs into his tensed muscles.  “I’ll show you something really fun when you’re done eating.  I think you’ll like it…”

“We aren’t killing anyone right now, Alfred.  I can’t afford to waste time cleaning up bodies.”

“No one else will be involved,” Alfred assured him.  “Just you, me, and some fun toys.”

“What kind of ‘toys?’ ” asked Ivan, understandably apprehensive.

“Oh, you know,” answered Alfred, licking his lips and draping himself over Ivan from behind.  “The usual.  Chains.  Whips.  A knife.”

“I’m not sure a knife qualifies as ‘the usual,’ ” said Ivan.  He took another bite of the bird.

“It does for me.”

Ivan shrugged.  “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.  Don’t be surprised if you end up in ribbons by the end of this.”  He was getting close to finishing up.  He couldn’t help but eat a little faster; it would be a complete lie to say he wasn’t looking forward to plunging a knife into someone for the first time in ages.

Alfred’s breath hitched, but when Ivan turned his head to look back it him, it was quite obviously out of arousal, rather than fear.  It figured.  He’d barely reacted to having his skull cracked open against a brick wall; why would being sliced up like butter be any different for him?

He set the fork down on the dish and got out of the chair.  Alfred’s arms were around his chest as he turned around to walk, and he floated along behind him like a living cape.  “Let’s head to the basement, shall we?  I can’t have the blood staining the rug.”  Or being seen from the window, on the off-chance someone decided to peek in.

“I’ll meet you there,” purred Alfred.  “Don’t bother bringing anything, I’ll have all my stuff ready!”

“It only takes me about a minute to get to the basement.”

“And it takes me thirty seconds to get set up.  See you!”

Alfred vanished in a massive burst of fire, clearly excited.  Unfortunately, he also singed the tile floor in the process.  Ivan took a deep breath and forced himself to smile, as he so often did, although a vein bulged out of his forehead.  As if smiling fixed everything. 

He’d rarely smiled when he was young.  There was simply nothing to smile about; the few times he did, it only seemed to horrify people.  Like the time he’d happily shown his older sister the corpse of a kitten he’d beaten to death with an old, rusty pipe buried in the woods.  How proud he’d been of his conquest of the stray that scratched his arm and bit his hand when he’d wanted nothing more than to pet it!  But his sister had only screamed, and his mother had sent him to his room and blocked the door with a shelf; she would have locked it, but it was broken, and they didn’t have the money to fix it.  Anything that their father brought home when he visited once every few months or so went straight to alcohol.

His brow furrowed at the few memories he had of his father.  Ivan could remember his face clear as day, but he’d never learned his name, nor had his mother or siblings.  They knew him only by his alias.  ‘Winter.’  The season he loved.  A time of cold and death.

Ivan could still remember one of the first lessons his father had taught him, when he was about 14 years of age, and his knack for Winter’s profession became clear.  They were alone in the wooded area outside their tiny little town, taking a walk together on one of those rare visits that he’d quickly come to look forward to; for although his father was clearly unstable and dangerous, his mother was infinitely worse, and his presence spared him her wrath, if only for a day.

_“Now, boy,”_ he’d said, breaking a huge, spear-sized icicle off of a low-hanging branch to hold in both his gloved hands.  _“Do you know the most important thing about my job?”_

_“Not getting caught?”_ he’d answered, his eyes wide with fascination.

_“Very good,”_ Winter had praised.  He’d always praised him.  Encouraged him.  Supported him.  _“And do you know the best way not to get caught?”_

Ivan remembered thinking for a long, long moment.  _“No, sir,”_ he’d said, because Winter was more than his father.  He was a mentor.  The only one Ivan had ever known.

_“The best way not to get caught is to keep people from being aware there was a crime in the first place,”_ he’d explained.  _“You see this icicle?  Where’s the best place for me to stab you with this, if I wanted to kill you?”_

He hadn’t understood at first.  _“My vital organs?”_ he’d guessed.

_“No, not ‘where on your body.’  I’m asking ‘where in this forest?’ ”_

Ivan had bitten his lip, and pulled his scarf up over his face to hide away from the horrible chill nipping at his nose.  _“Umm…”_

_“Under the same place I took it from,”_ Winter had told him patiently.  _“And do you know why?”_ He’d shaken his head.  _“Because then, it’s not murder.  It simply fell on its own, and you were unlucky enough to be beneath it at the time.”_

_“Couldn’t you drag my body under the branch afterwards?”_

_“It’s an icicle, Ivan.  It’s WINTER.  There would be traces of tampering in the snow.”_

_“How would you cover your footprints, then?”_

Winter had smiled and patted his head.  _“I was waiting for you to ask that.  Good boy.  Don’t blindly accept my words as fact.  Always question, and always look at things through the eyes of those who seek to hunt you down.  When you join me in my world, you will have superiors that seek to send you on suicide missions, for whatever reason.  Perhaps to take the fall for one of their screw-ups, or simply because they don’t like you.  Maybe they’re just too stupid to recognize the danger.  Never trust that anyone has your best interests at heart.”_

_“Not even you, sir?”_

_“Especially not me,”_ Winter had said.  _“You’re still alive because I believe that you’ll one day prove useful to me.  There may come a day when I decide you’ve outlived that purpose.  Never forget that.”_

And Ivan had been comforted by that, because every moment he’d spent alive was proof that someone in the world wanted him.

He began heading down the stairs, desperate for a fix of the gore he’d learned to find solace in.


	7. A Demon's Aura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan learns more about the inner workings of a demon's body, and makes a rather unwise bet in spite of what he's learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's certainly been long enough. I've been meaning to continue this for a long time, now, but for some reason I could just never bring myself to get through this scene. I'm still not really happy with how it turned out (I need to get better at subtle exposition), but I hope that now that it's finally done with, chapters following it should be a bit easier. (Emphasis on "should.") My sincere apologies. At least I know exactly where I want the story to go from here, so don't worry about me being lost, or something. The ending is still a rather long way off, but I'm going to reach it if it kills me.
> 
> Ahem. Anyway, warning for sexualized gore. Lots of gore.

When he rounded the corner at the bottom, it was clear that Alfred had had practice preparing in a flash in the past, because his ordinary little basement-office had been turned into a BDSM dungeon in the course of about sixty seconds. Somehow, Alfred had chained his own wrists to the upper end of a slanted metal table, legs held apart by cuffs at the bottom that were clipped to both of his ankles. A second table held all sorts of little implements, prepared like surgical instruments in a nice, orderly fashion. In fact, many of them _were_ surgical instruments, such as the set of scalpels sitting beside the plastic container full of needles.

“You know,” said Ivan, “it sort of ruins the effect when I know you can just teleport out of those.”

Alfred, who had previously looked very much aroused, narrowed his eyes and stuck his tongue out. “I go through all the trouble of getting this set up, and you can’t play along for at least a minute or two? I don’t mean to sound like an old man, but honestly, it seems like mortals are getting harder to impress with every passing year!”

“Oh, I’m sure anyone else would have been impressed,” said Ivan with all the sincerity of an anglerfish. “And don’t worry about sounding old. You don’t sound a day over nineteen.” He’d have said ‘five,’ but then he’d have felt like a pedophile. Awful a person though he was, he had _some_ standards. Or, well, actually, it was because children simply didn't interest him. All the same, it wasn't a label he wanted to get branded with.

The problem with using backhanded compliments on Alfred was, of course, that he never understood them. “Aww, thanks! You’re sweet when you want to be,” said Alfred obliviously. “Now pick up that scalpel and press it against my collarbone. Right in the middle.”

Rolling his eyes, Ivan picked the blade up off of the little table and put the pointed end right over Alfred’s sternum, between his left and right clavicles. “What kind of cut are we talking about, here? I’m not going to risk killing you, am I?” He didn’t care to have his soul engulfed in flame so early.

“Straight down my stomach. And while I appreciate the concern, I can live through having my head chopped off. A little gut wound isn't going to hurt anything,” said Alfred, dipping his head downwards to gaze at his own body. “I’d very much prefer if you stopped short of my genitals, though.”

Ivan grinned. “No promises.”

Alfred looked him straight in the eyes, like an animal warning you to back off before it attacked. Ivan didn’t falter for even a moment. He never backed down from such contests; his stare had gone undefeated by all but one, and he wasn’t about to break that record for a demon. Still, behind the blue was an inferno of determination, and he had a feeling that Alfred was just as unwilling to relent.

Knowing very well that they would be glaring at each other until the end of time unless he did something, Ivan jerked his arm down and sliced Alfred open with one clean swipe.

“FUCK! You cheater!” growled Alfred like an angry hellhound, the cut having been distraction enough to make him turn his head.

Ivan pinched his cheek and laughed. “Ah-ah-ah! No insulting me, remember?”

“That wasn’t an insult, it was a statement of fact!”

“Oh, really? I don’t recall there being any rules to the game we were playing just now,” mused Ivan, setting the dripping scalpel aside to reach towards the flaps of Alfred’s skin.

Alfred muttered a few swears. When he saw where Ivan’s hands were going, however, he quickly got over his irritation. “Stop! Put on the gloves I gave you, first!”

It was then that Ivan noticed a pair of baby blue gloves off to the side. They looked like ordinary surgical gloves, but they didn’t feel like them. They had a leathery texture, although they stretched to fit his hands all the same. They reached up to his elbows, and at first he expected that they would ruin the sensation of having blood dry between his fingers. However, the moment they were on completely, they seemed to fuse to his skin; he pressed his fingers to the table, and realized very quickly that he had full sensation.

“There are a lot of people who would kill to have condoms like this,” was the first thing that came to mind.

“STDs can’t survive on me, so we wouldn’t need any of those, anyway,” said Alfred. “Anyway, you’re going to need those if you want to touch anything inside of me. A lot of my organs could easily give you third degree burns, or at least bad blisters; those should keep you from getting the full blast.” He blushed. “My blood is also the most potent aphrodisiac in my body, so you don’t want any getting absorbed into your skin. It could get ugly. And by ugly, I mean a few drops could have you writhing on the ground and ejaculating from the friction of your own underwear.”

“Is that so?” said Ivan, intrigued. “Sounds like it could be useful…”

“The effect isn’t as strong once it’s been out of my body for longer than about a minute,” explained Alfred. “It’s mostly a defense mechanism, like if some other demon is attacking me and my blood spills all over them. Not that I ever get into situations where I can’t handle myself, but, well, it comes pre-built, you know?”

“I see. So if I tried putting it in someone’s water…?”

“Useless. None of my aphrodisiacs work in large concentrations of liquid. They’re sort of like fire, ya' know? The particles in the air are fine, but if you soak them, they’re done. Now hurry up and get on with it, already!” His cock stood erect and dripping.

Ivan began to spread the skin and muscle apart with his covered hands. What awaited him was, well, different than he was used to seeing inside a person’s body.

“You seem surprised,” said Alfred, shifting to a more comfortable position. “What, did you think my organs were going to be the same as yours?”

It would be a lie if Ivan told someone he wasn’t fascinated by what he saw. One of the first things that became apparent as he pulled flesh out of the way and sponged up the blood was that, although there was much Alfred had in common with a human, there were far more ways in which his insides were entirely different. His intestines were significantly shorter, and in some ways resembled a flipped esophagus. It trailed up into an unfamiliar organ, which from there went into something opaque that looked vaguely stomach-like. A second of the unknown organs was at the bottom of his actual esophagus, which also went into the stomach-like one. A third one seemed to hang off to the side, but it appeared that Ivan had inadvertently slice the tube leading to it open. He was about to try to figure out where it came form when Alfred ripped his hand out of one of the cuffs to point and speak up.

The first thing he motioned to was the stomach-like organ in the dead center. “Inside there is my Hellfire, the little flame that keeps me alive and gives me power. You never want to touch that with your bare fingers, if you can avoid it.”

“What would happen if I damaged it?” asked Ivan, a bit wary of touching something if it could potentially kill them both.

“You can try cutting it, if you want. You’ll only succeed in melting the scalpel,” answered Alfred, poking at it with his sharp claws as though it weren’t his sole lifeline. “You can’t damage it from the outside. There are only a few ways to put out a demon’s Hellfire other than starvation. And before you ask, I’m not allowed to tell you any of them, regardless of your orders. The last time someone did that, it… Uh, well, let’s just say there’s a reason you didn’t get a local demon.”

“Oh?”

Alfred groaned when he realized he was going to have to explain. “Long story short, before you were even born, one of the Russian witches went around with his demon slaughtering almost all the other demons in this country’s division of contract-makers. Simply put, we’ve only got a handful of locals left to take care of all the potential contracts here, and the rest of us are filling in until we can get enough eggs together to get this division back on its feet. It’s not usually a huge issue, since demand for witches almost always outweighs supply of people willing to sell their soul, but it’s the first time we’ve taken this kind of a hit to our population in a long time. Demon eggs aren’t pleasant to lay, and take years in incubation to hatch. Combined with the time it takes to train them, and the fact that not all of them ultimately want to come to the mortal world at all... Well, I'm sure you can see why it’s taking so long to fix the problem.”

He was more intrigued than aroused by then. “Almost all of them? How is that possible? And _why?”_

“A combination of underhanded tactics, and the fact that the demon he was randomly assigned just so happened to be a former acting-Lucifer. The one right before Arthur, as a matter of fact,” answered Alfred, relaxing his body and sighing with resignation when he realized he wasn’t going to get touched for a few minutes. “As for why, nobody knows. There are a lot of reasons witches have wanted to kill as many demons as they can in the past. Some think of it as a final religious crusade. Others want to feel like they got some sort of revenge on the creatures that are going to eat their soul one day. They don’t usually manage to take down more than one before screwing up and getting themselves killed, but this one was different. No, _this_ guy would sit in the shadows and wait for the perfect opportunity to strike, one after the other.”

“So what finally killed him?”

“Nothing. He’s still alive,” answered Alfred. When Ivan’s eyes widened, he quickly added, “I wouldn’t worry, though! First of all, I’m WAY tougher than his demon. Second, he hasn’t done it since Arthur personally visited him and asked him to quit it about twenty years ago. Getting what essentially amounts to a white flag from the ruler of Hell seemed to satisfy him.”

Still, Ivan found himself a bit strained by the new knowledge. “Any _other_ witch-hunters I should know about?”

“Your best bet is to just be wary of other witches in general,” answered Alfred. “There aren’t any in this area, though. If you actually read the book you used to summon me, you’d know that a demon can sense other demons and their witches within about a five to ten mile radius depending on their skill level, and are obligated to inform you when they do. I’m up to ten, and I haven’t caught the barest whiff of either. And before you ask, I haven’t got a clue how many kilometers ten miles is.”

Damn it. He was going to read that thing from cover to cover when he was done with Alfred that night. “Shouldn’t that sort of thing be explained in the first chapter?”

“It is. You need to slide the text up to read the whole thing,” said Alfred. “Now, can we get on with this? We can talk more later! I’m hungry!”

Ivan lightly prodded the little bulbous things that Alfred’s ‘food’ apparently had to get through to reach his stomach with his finger. “What do these do?”

If looks could kill, Ivan would have been brutally murdered where he stood. Thankfully, Alfred’s glare served only to make it apparent that he was angry. As usual. In Ivan’s humble opinion, it was one of his most appealing faces.

“Those convert things like semen, souls, and all the other things I can digest into fuel for my Hellfire,” he snapped. “Uhg, curiosity is supposed to kill cats, not starve me. Since you _must_ know…” He took his free hand and began pointing things out to explain. “These things that resemble lungs supply my Hellfire with oxygen; if the oxygen supply gets cut off, the flame goes down to a smolder, and I can’t use magic.” Suddenly, his face grew bright red. “Wait, am I supposed to tell you that? I can’t actually remember…”

Ah, so Alfred was weak to anger-induced slips of the tongue. Ivan would have to remember that for the future. “So when I was choking you before…”

“Yeah, I definitely wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” Alfred decided, slamming the back of his head against the table. “Damn it. Whatever, too late now, I guess. Yes, I was, for all intents and purposes, completely helpless when you put your hands around my throat. I mean,” he added quickly. “I could have muscled my way out of there if I wanted to! I just didn’t want to!”

He was going to have to start taking notes. “There’s one last thing I’d like to know about,” said Ivan.

“And after this, you PROMISE we can get back to business?”

“I swear on my soul.”

Alfred wasn’t amused, but he conceded regardless. “Fine. What is it?”

“This.”

Ivan traced his covered fingers up Alfred’s many innards and touched the clear little cavity in his chest. It looked exactly like a human heart, but it was translucent and full of air, like a balloon. There were a few little glimmers of light floating around within it, like shards of glass.

Alfred grimaced. “Oh, that? That’s where my soul used to be. Duh.” He looked down at it for himself and scowled. “There are a couple pieces still left in there, like bits of sawdust. A necessary evil, unfortunately.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t just vanish, you know. It _shatters._ The core of your being, gone. You die instantly when it happens, but without a soul, you can’t ascend. The little fragments that remain form something new around them. Something corrupted, and hollow. Like yours truly!” The smile had returned to his face. “It’s nice, really. I’m not defined by a soul anymore, or the purity that comes with it. This is real free will. It’s freedom in the truest sense of the word.”

“Freedom that you use to devour other souls to feel like you have one again.”

Alfred’s shoulders drooped, and he stuck his tongue out at Ivan as he had so many times before. “Look, even a pilot has to touch down on the ground to re-fuel now and again. As long as these little fragments are still inside of me, I’ll always have to land for a little while if I want to stay sane. Well, somewhat sane, anyway,” he said playfully. “I’d clean ‘em out altogether, but then I’d vanish. Poof. Gone. No more Alfred. And worse, no more sex!”

Ivan’s eyes widened. “So you’re saying that you can destroy a demon by getting rid of those soul fragments?”

It was Alfred’s turn to look shocked. “Wh-what? I, uh, I…” He struggled to find a way to answer that, but Ivan’s ‘no lying’ rule had him trapped. “I, uh, I plead the fifth!”

Ivan grabbed him by the hair and grinned as though he were a cat that had successfully cornered a little mouse. “Wrong country. And even then, I’ve never cared much for the rights of other people.”

Alfred stammered for a moment more, but ultimately gave in. “Fuck. _Shit._ Argh! _Yes,_ that’s one way to destroy a demon.” He’d just inadvertently confirmed that there were more methods, but Ivan chose not to point that out right then. “Arthur’s gonna kill me if he finds out that I let you know! Please, PLEASE tell me you’ll only use this in self-defense!”

“No promises!” Ivan practically sang, his thirst for knowledge sated for the moment. “Now, what say you we get back to having fun, hm?”

“I really fucking hate you,” hissed Alfred as Ivan locked his freed wrist back into place, despite the restraints being more for show than anything else. “Do you plan these mind games in advance, or something?”

Ivan picked the scalpel back up and laughed, harder than he had in awhile. “Mind games? Not at all. You’re just an open book.”

The time for talk was over. He had a near-indestructible body to mess with.

While Alfred grumbled, Ivan ran his hand over the black bones that formed his ribcage, and pushed it inwards. As he’d expected, it didn’t budge. So, he pushed a little harder, with a pressure that had always broken the ribs of other people. Still it remained. So he took a bone saw to it and began to cut.

“You’re taking one of my ribs? Really?” asked Alfred, irritated. “You’re not going to try and make a woman out of it, right?”

“That would certainly be ironic,” said Ivan. He was tempted to lick some of the blood off of his gloves, as he always did. It was almost a force of habit. Still, his better judgment won out. Although Alfred’s blood had a tempting aroma, he knew that it would be foolish to put something he couldn’t even safely touch without protection into his mouth. “But no.”

“Oh, good, ‘cause I think I’d have to destroy the new competition.”

As he worked, a question came to mind. “How do you have blood if you have no pulse?”

“It’s not really ‘blood,’ per say,” admitted Alfred. “It looks like blood, but it’s just an aphrodisiac that I’m filled with. It doesn’t really have to move throughout my body, or anything. It just sort of sits in my ‘veins,’ and more gets produced when I run low.”

After a few moments of cutting, the floating rib came free, and he observed it more closely. The tip was much sharper than an ordinary one.

He placed it against Alfred’s lips. “Do you mind holding this for me?”

“You have some fucked up fetishes,” Alfred mused. “But I guess I’m a hypocrite there, huh?” He opened his mouth obediently, and closed it around the bone.

“No, it’s mostly just to give you something to do with your mouth other than talking while I cut out all the rest,” said Ivan.

Although there was certainly a lot of ‘blood,’ Alfred seemed to be self-cauterizing the wounds. Every new slice he made with the knife through the various tissues of his abdomen smoldered like a candle that had just been blown out.

Some inevitably spilled to the floor below. Given what he knew, he wasn’t sure just how easy it would be to clean later; it was similar to blood in many ways, and yet so different at the same time. Whether or not it would prove sticky or watery in consistency was a mystery to him.

He took the short tube that would ordinarily be intestines and began pulling it upward. “I’m going to move slowly, so you have the opportunity to tell me if anything is dangerous or if any of my actions will threaten your life before I perform them.”

Unable to respond without dropping the rib, Alfred blearily nodded, blushing heavily. It was then that Ivan remembered that he was tugging on one of the most sensitive parts of Alfred’s anatomy, just from the outside. Interesting; the whole length of it was sensitive, and the demon’s legs jerked outward with every movement of his fingers.

He pulled it taut, and it stretched like a rubber band. When he let go, it snapped back into place, and Alfred’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Does the surface have nerves, or is it just the friction and stretching you’re feeling inside?” Ivan asked, but Alfred just looked irritated. “Oh, fine. Since you’ve indulged me, I suppose I can return the favor.”

Alfred appeared more than relieved when he began tugging his pants down, but instead of the sex organ he expected, Ivan took one of the ribs he’d cut out and slipped it in.

“…Are you seriously going to fuck me with my own rib?” asked Alfred, looking more stunned than anything else. “I mean, really? Oh my Go- FUCK!” He bit his tongue, which sent out a small burst of sparks and smoke as the word threatened to escape his lips. “Damn it.”

“You’ve said it before without a problem,” said Ivan, amused by the scene. He pushed the broken off rib deeper, hoping to mess with him some more.

“It’s like the difference between using ‘bitch’ to describe an actual female dog, and using it as an insult,” he said hastily, in order to quickly get back on track. “Oh, fuck, man, do you seriously get off on this?” He groaned uncomfortably as the sharp tip pressed against his innards. Ivan reached into his would-be intestines with his free hand, and felt it through its walls.

“If I said no, would that bother you?”

“Y-yes! Mmm!” gasped Alfred, already turning into putty in his hands. He was practically glittering with sweat, or whatever the heck he made in its place. But calling it a sweat-esque substance was ridiculous, so Ivan resolved to simply call it what it appeared to be. “P-push a little harder! Ah, yeah, there! O-oh fuck…”

And push harder he did, until the pointed end tore right through. It started with a little black dot visible through the layer of flesh, then erupted outward as a result of his underestimation of his strength in relation to Alfred’s durability. The result was a rather shrill and unpleasant noise from Alfred, like a shrieking ghoul.

“Oops.” Well, there was his vengeance for the whole ‘dropping him from halfway to the clouds’ thing, anyway.

With a snap of his fingers, the chains were gone, and Alfred pushed his hand away so he could pull the rib out. “Aww, man, I can’t heal that as easily as the flesh wounds! And right after I recovered from the snow, too! Do you just have something against anal?” He was glaring daggers at Ivan as he slid his hand over the giant gaping wound that left his organs exposed, and the skin began to come back together, each side melting into the other until not a trace of the damage remained. In the few seconds before it completely closed up, the ribs that had been cut out also appeared to be re-growing.

“I told you to tell me if I was going to damage something!” said Ivan defensively. He refused to take the blame. “And you were the one who told me to push harder!”

At last, Alfred’s gaze softened up a bit. “I know, I know. I should have known this was a bad idea. I'm sorry. I may have overestimated my own self-control. Again.”

“Is that so?” said Ivan, setting the rib aside, and only narrowly managing to remember not to rub his temples with the gloves that were still douses in Alfred's blood. “You'd think that after all this time, you'd know your limits.”

“Remind me not to apologize to you anymore,” grumbled Alfred. “Not that you haven't had your fair share already, but maybe you'll understand if I let you in on a little secret. You like secrets, don't you?”

“Depends. What kind of secret?”

“It's pretty simple, really,” said Alfred, wincing as he inspected the damage. “Every demon is full of fluids that incite their respective sin. Hang around me for long enough while I'm not suppressing my own power, and you'll start getting horny. Hang around my brother, and you'll start to get pissed to the point of wanting to go beat up some random hobo. Some of us have a stronger aura than others.”

“So the stronger the aura, the more powerful the demon?”

“No, actually,” said Alfred. “I'll give you one guess as to why.”

Ivan peeled off the gloves and rolled his eyes. “I don't do guessing games.”

“We don't have immunity to our own auras.”

“Oh.”

Then it began to sink in. He found himself remembering the carnal desire he'd felt the one time he'd allowed himself to get immersed.

“ _Oh.”_

“Sometimes you get demons with an aura that's too strong for them to handle,” said Alfred, shakily getting to his feet. “They don't have the will to control themselves, and they lose their minds. 'Ferals,' we call 'em. You can find them in the lower layers of Hell, just wandering around and doing what they do.”

“So even now...?”

Alfred nodded and laughed. “You have no idea. It took me almost a year before I could have a proper conversation with someone after I turned. Even my brother, little Mr. Pinnacle of Self-Control, took at least two months to stop trying to murder our teachers. It's the worst for cambions, because we've lived without it before. Pure-blooded demons are used to it from the time they're hatched.”

Ivan couldn't stop himself. “A year before you regained control of yourself?” he said in a disbelieving tone. “Surely it isn't _that_ bad. I managed to resist you well enough that one time.”

“You want to put your money where your mouth is?” said Alfred, grinning fiendishly. “How about it, then? I'll mix you up a slurry of everything I have inside me every second of every day, and if you keep control of yourself, I'll do whatever you want for the rest of your life. No more back-talk, no more loopholes, no more general mayhem. Just absolute obedience.”

Oh, it was too good an offer to pass up on! But still, he had to know... “And if I should lose?”

“I get to do whatever I want to you while you're under the influence, that's all. Nothing that would cause any damage. Just sexual stuff. I won't force you into anything, of course,” said Alfred, winking. “The challenge is to see if you can refuse me.”

Ivan checked his watch. “How long will it last?”

“You don't have work tomorrow.”

“ _How long?”_

Alfred crossed his legs and pouted, as blatantly fake and silly-looking as it was. “About twenty-four hours from a shot glass full, give or take.”

“And you'll make sure that _nothing_ goes wrong in this time?”

“Promise.”

“And you won't use the opportunity to kill me?”

“I'll do everything within my power to keep you alive and well,” said Alfred, snapping his fingers. A shot glass materialized in his hand with a puff of smoke, and Ivan recognized it as one of his own. It felt like ages since he'd last had a sip of vodka. He wasn't willing to get drunk around a creature that might take advantage of him in that time; the fact that he might have to spend the rest of his natural life sober was actually kind of depressing.

It was only after Alfred began to create his concoction that Ivan started to wonder just what it was he'd gotten himself into. On one hand, Alfred was an idiot to begin with, and had probably been some sort of a whore back when he was still a human; the idea that it could take _anyone_ but him an entire _year_ to regain full autonomy seemed absolutely ridiculous. On the other hand, _Matthew_ had seemed a fairly intelligent person in the short time he'd spent with him. Alfred couldn't lie to him, so it had definitely taken him two months. By the time Alfred had finished masturbating into the glass, Ivan was already beginning to regret the bet.

“You'll have to drink quickly once I add the blood,” said Alfred. He spat into the glass. “And don't worry about how disgusting this looks. Everything about me is built to taste delicious.”

Ivan grimaced, but it was true that the scent alone was pulling him towards the otherwise disgusting concoction. It was like nothing he'd ever smelled before. Sweet, like fruit, but not sickeningly so. By the time Alfred sliced open his finger to let the blood drip into the fluid, his throat had gone dry, as though the demon were holding the last glass of water in an endless desert.

He downed it all in a single gulp, clenching his fist with resolve. He was strong. He had a will of iron. Nothing could-

“Fwaaaaaah...” was all he could bring himself to say. He could practically feel his pupils dilating as he collapsed to the floor, all rational thought thoroughly purged from his brain. Absolutely nothing mattered anymore. Nothing, that was, except _sex. Sexsexsexsexsex..._ If someone had told him that they had to cut off all four of his limbs in order for him to orgasm, he would have agreed without hesitation.

“Credit where it's due; you lasted a full five seconds,” said Alfred, bending over and smirking down at him. “Honestly, what part of 'it took me a _year_ to learn to control myself' did you not understand?”

He wanted to use those things. Those things called 'words.' He had to use them to tell Alfred what he needed. Ivan stroked himself openly, and parted his lips to speak, but all that came out was garbled nonsense that nobody alive could ever hope to decipher. Infuriated, he smashed his fist into the ground, as though that would help Alfred understand. Why wasn't he helping? Couldn't he see that Ivan _needed_ him? Why was he just standing there and _laughing?_

“Oh my gosh!” said Alfred, howling with laughter. “You look so fucking pathetic! I always thought Arthur was exaggerating when he told me how bad I used to be, but _this...”_ He leaned against the wall and clutched his sides.

Ivan stripped off what remained of his clothes. _'Sex!'_ he wanted to say, but once more, he couldn't form coherent words. Drool dripped down the corners of his mouth, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as orgasm struck. It was like he was lost in a world of nothing but immeasurable pleasure. In those few seconds, all was well with the world, and he wouldn't have minded if he'd just died right there. Unfortunately, it was over _far_ too soon. Seed splattered all over the floor, but it wasn't _enough._ It could _never_ be _enough._ There was _no such thing_ as _enough._ The only thing that mattered anymore was _pleasure._

Alfred finally seemed to give in to temptation, and got down on his hands and knees to lick up the sperm that he'd sprayed about without a care in the world. “Hey, give me a heads-up next time!” Notably, he didn't even seem to mind lapping it up off of the floor when the need arose.

Ivan clawed at the demon's body. When Alfred didn't respond, he pulled on his tail.

“Hey!” said Alfred, blushing heavily. “There are a couple of things you don't do to a demon, and _tugging the tail_ is a _definite-_ ooh!” He gasped and allowed himself to be pulled backwards, until Ivan's unsatisfied erection was at his entrance. “Th-that's still injured!”

Before Ivan could penetrate him, Alfred smacked his hands away and yanked his tail from his hands. He quickly rose into the air before he could be grabbed again, looking down with a blush on his face. Though the witch made a valiant effort to get to his feet, too, he only succeeded in falling flat on his face to rub his length along the cool floor.

“I hate to admit it, but you were a lot sexier when you had your composure,” murmured Alfred, looking almost regretful. “Well, since you're so fond of secrets, and you probably won't remember any of this by the time it's out of your system, how about another one? Well, it isn't really a secret so much as a little piece of trivia, but you get the idea.”

Ivan could hardly understand what was being said. Didn't Alfred understand that words didn't even matter anymore? His body felt the same way, didn't it? Why wasn't he coming down?

“Just because I'm a succubus doesn't always mean I'm always the one spreading my legs,” Alfred went on, grinning fiendishly. “It just means I feed off of sperm. To that end, I have three ways to get sustenance inside my body.”

He snapped his fingers, and a pair of handcuffs appeared over Ivan's wrists, connected by a chain to his neck that kept him from being able to reach out in any direction.

“You've already tried out two,” said Alfred, licking his lips. “And I'm taking our bet as consent for the third. I won't lie; you've won almost every single round between us up until now, but you let pride cloud your judgment this time around.”

Gibberish. That was all Ivan could hear as Alfred finally, _finally_ set foot on the ground. He grabbed at him, but the succubus had already slipped between his legs. Rather than pressing his witch's cock to his typical entrance, he pushed the tip up against his naval.

“Someone like you probably hasn't done it this way before,” mused Alfred, pressing a kiss against Ivan's cheek. “You're way too proud for that.”

Ivan couldn't bring himself to respond. The words were going by too fast to so much as comprehend. There was a nagging sensation in the very back of his head that he ought to push Alfred off, but the rest of him couldn't quite understand why.

“And yet,” said Alfred, gazing over his body. His shoulders drooped, as did his swishing tail. “There's something about doing it like this that sort of sucks out the satisfaction.”

So many _words,_ and Ivan didn't care about a single one. He grabbed desperately at the succubus' body, but Alfred managed to jump back out of the way, though there were visible signs of strain on his face as he did so.

“Fuck, I can't even remember the last time I decided against having sex with someone,” groaned Alfred, wiping a few beads of sweat from his brow. “And I don't think I've _ever_ turned down a human.” Briefly, Ivan could feel some semblance of reason returning to him as he observed the demon. His body was glistening with sweat, and it was clear that it was taking everything he had to stay away.

Then, just like that, his mind was gone again, flushed down to the deepest recesses of his brain in favor of impulse and desperation. His nails dug into the floor as he flopped down against its cold surface.

“Fuck, I can't stay in here,” said Alfred, shaking his head and pressing a hand up to his brow. “Damn it. I'm not going to lose control!”

Though Ivan's hand managed to brush up against his tail, he was unable to grab Alfred before he took off up the stairs as though vicious wolves were nipping at his heels. The door slammed shut behind him, and the witch was left alone.


	8. The Man With the Large Eyebrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan continues having strange dreams, with the latest involving a stranger with particularly pronounced eyebrows. Following that, it would seem that there's much more for him to overcome in his quest than he initially anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, it certainly took long enough, but I've finally gotten my butt in gear and finished this chapter up. Thank you to everyone patient enough to stick it out this long. <3 My apologies. I've always been a bit of a procrastinator. I really need to set some deadlines for myself, or things just flounder. I'll see what I can do about that. I'm far from losing interest in this story; I'm just incredibly lazy.

He was small. Meek. Helpless. The opposite of everything he'd always been told that it was important to be.

Ivan's eyes fluttered open to greet the day in the cramped darkness of the small house he'd been sleeping in. Though he didn't know how he knew, he had to get up and get dressed as soon as possible. It was a Sunday, and that meant going to listen to his father's sermons. To sleep in would surely invoke his wrath.

He rubbed his weary eyes and hopped out of the small, splintery wooden bed he'd been sleeping in. With all the enthusiasm of a cow being led to slaughter, he opened up the chest at the foot of it and rummaged through in search of his church clothes. Being a priest was an 'honorable' profession, he'd been told, but it didn't earn them a lot of money. His mother could weave casual clothing just fine, but anything nice enough to please his father had to be purchased from someone a bit more skilled. That meant he ended up keeping each outfit for as long as possible before getting rid of them, even as they began to grow so tight around his body that just sitting down was a pain.

It was a struggle, but he managed to pull up his trousers and fasten them into place, though he silently hoped nobody noticed that the legs were about two inches higher than they should have been. None of the adults would ever make fun of the son of a priest, of course, but his friends wouldn't be quite so intimidated.

The shoes squeezed his toes painfully as he walked to the door, to the point where he wished he could just cut them off so he wouldn't have to deal with it any longer. He was tired of dealing with such things every week. It wasn't fair that they expected him to suffer in silence to avoid eternal damnation. What was so evil about wanting to wear comfortable clothing to church? Surely God could make an exception for a growing boy.

Ivan poked his head out the door. A blonde woman stood at the old wooden gate a good distance away from the front door. He was about to call out to her, but she seemed to be having a conversation with a strange man he'd never seen before. His parents had always taught him to hold his tongue when adults were having a conversation, so instead, he approached silently, hoping to surprise his mother once she was done.

There was something odd about the stranger. He was a blonde-haired man a few inches shorter than his father, with piercing green eyes and a clean-shaven face. His eyebrows were quite thick, but he carried himself in such a way that it only served to enhance his gentlemanly appearance. He radiated confidence and pride, like a mighty stallion among geldings. Every motion he made was full of the practiced grace of an old man, though he looked to be in his early twenties. Under one arm, he carried a book, the title of which Ivan couldn't quite make out.

He took another look at his mother. She seemed quite conflicted about something.

“No. I have no need of your services,” she said at long last. “I just couldn't.”

“It's your decision,” said the man, his accent indicating mainland origins. “Why don't you take a little more time? You can just burn it if you change your mind.” He held the thick book out to her, a warm smile on his face, then turned his head towards Ivan. “After all, you're not the only person you need to worry about.”

The woman gasped and turned around. Ivan blushed heavily, having been caught red-handed. “Alfred Franklin Jones! What in the world are you doing?”

Ivan took a step back and stared at his feet. “W-we've gotta go to church. Papa's waiting.”

He looked up just long enough to see a strange look pass over his mother's face. “Yes. Yes, I suppose we must.” She turned back to look at the stranger, and all but ripped the book out of his hands. “You go ahead, dearest. Mama has some things to take care of, first.”

Slowly, Ivan nodded, and was about to turn around to start going down the dirt road – it was a long walk, but saddling up the horses was apparently too much work to do on the day of rest – but something about the stranger caused him to hesitate, even as the woman ran back into the house.

“Mister?” he addressed. The stranger had yet to leave, and was gazing down at him with a strange sort of fascination. “Are you going to church?”

The stranger chuckled. “I'm afraid that would be impossible, lad.”

It was his first time ever encountering someone who didn't go to church every Sunday. “Why not? Papa says people who don't go to church go to Hell.”

“People who don't go to church _do_ go to Hell,” said the stranger, nodding in apparent agreement.

Ivan paused for a moment to really think on those words.

“Do people who go to church go to Heaven?”

“Good question,” said the stranger, reaching down to ruffle his hair. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must be off.”

He vanished in a puff of flame. Ivan's eyes widened, and he took off running down the road.

* * *

 

“Oh, my head...” groaned Ivan. His eyes felt sticky and gross, to the point where he had to push the lids up with his finger in order to detach his upper lashes from the lower ones.

It took a moment for him to regain his bearings. For one thing, he was naked. Thankfully, he was naked in his own home. In fact, it appeared that he hadn't left the basement. His back was pressed against the floor, limbs splayed at awkward and uncomfortable angles. There was an incredibly unpleasant pain in his genitalia, and a single look downward showed why. The sensitive flesh had been rubbed raw. It seemed that Alfred wasn't the only one who would be out of commission for a little bit. He would have to be careful not to use too much magic in the coming few days, since replenishing it could prove problematic.

Or would it? He supposed Alfred could theoretically go out and give people blowjobs in the alley, or whatever it was that he did when he wasn't on duty. It wasn't as though he were some helpless creature that depended on Ivan for his every need. He was a grown man, was he not? Or, rather, a grown demon. But he'd been a man, too, surely. He'd said himself that he'd been a human before.

“Alfred?” he called, gradually getting to his feet and hissing with pain. He didn't know _what_ he'd been doing, but whatever it was, it had involved numerous uncomfortable positions. As his senses returned, he couldn't help but notice that the place was an absolute mess. He wasn't even sure it was possible that all the white fluid splattered all over the walls and floor was his own.

He raised an eyebrow. That was odd. Why hadn't Alfred consumed it? Had he suddenly changed his mind about licking it up off of the floor? The memories were hazy, but he could have sworn the succubus had done it before. Some would call his ensuing concern paranoia, but Ivan had lived long enough to know that such major deviations from the norm ought to be paid some heed.

“Alfred?” he said again, leaning against the wall as he walked to the stairs. “Get down here, now!”

In a puff of flame, the demon was at his side, an uncomfortable expression on his face. “Oh, hey there, sweet-seed.” Alfred's tone didn't in any way shift to indicate that the bizarre term of endearment had been a joke, leaving Ivan to wonder if he'd made it up, or if it was commonly used by others of his kind. “Welcome back to the land of the self-aware.”

Despite himself, Ivan's cheeks heated up some. “I'm probably going to regret this, but I'm going to go ahead and ask what it is that I did.”

“Oh, don't worry your pretty little head,” said Alfred, finally managing a smile as he looked over Ivan's body. For once, his gaze was more amused than lustful, though the humiliation was enough that the witch was wishing for it to be the latter again. “You stayed locked in the basement. It was way more fun to let you squirm and beg than to actually do anything. Believe it or not, I didn't so much as give you a handjob.” He eyed Ivan's reddened cock. “You did that to yourself, master.”

“Remind me never to make another bet with a creature from the underworld,” said Ivan irritably, shaking his head and slowly making his way up the stairs. “I want this basement cleaned up, is that understood?”

“Ooh, is somebody mad that their widdle ego got bruised?” teased Alfred, giving Ivan a playful slap on the back with one of his large, leathery wings. “Not as easy as you thought it would be, is it?”

“No,” Ivan conceded, nodding his head. There was no point in denying it. He'd made a stupid bet that every ounce of logic in his brain screamed that he had no chance of winning, and he'd ended up looking like a fool for it. Still, Alfred seemed surprised by the admission of defeat. “It wasn't. I'm not going to apologize for all the times I've scolded you for masturbating or trying to seduce me at inopportune times, because if you're serving me, it's _your_ responsibility to keep that under control. _However,”_ he added, refusing to meet the demon's gaze. “I have a better understanding of what's going through your head now.” He'd just thought that Alfred was being a drama queen when he'd freaked out about being barred from orgasm for a few days. After all that, though, it was easy to see why. “If you can stop causing trouble for trouble's sake, I can try to be a little more accommodating.”

Alfred seemed taken aback. “Really? I mean, not that I _need_ you to be more accommodating! I have _complete_ control of myself, thank you very much!” he said, a little too quickly. “But...” His face darkened a little. “Ivan, are you sure that it's all out of your system?”

“Completely,” answered Ivan with a shudder, shaking his head. He wasn't sure he would be able to get it up if he _wanted_ to right then. “Why do you ask?”

“N-no reason in particular, or anything,” said Alfred warily. “Forget I asked.”

“Alfred,” said Ivan warningly, turning his head to look at him with scrutinizing eyes. _“Why did you ask?”_

“It's nothing dangerous,” Alfred was sure to assure him first of all, an embarrassed look on his face. “And I'm sure it wouldn't happen to someone as smart as you, but-”

“Alfred, get to the point.”

“Well, uh,” managed Alfred, and it was clear that it was a bit of an awkward subject for him. Whatever was awkward for a demon to discuss just couldn't be good news. “It's just that you're being kind of nice to me all of a sudden, and, well, you know how some people sorta confuse lust and love? Some people who spend too much time around me start to get _attached,_ and-”

Ivan couldn't help himself; he interrupted Alfred's concerned words with a loud, unrestrained laugh, to the point where he clutched his stomach and his sides began to hurt. “Oh, Alfred, I've never even fallen in love with a _human._ I can't confuse one emotion with another that I just don't possess the capacity for.”

Alfred blushed heavily. “I was just checking! After the way one of my witches died, I was starting to get a little worried.”

Ivan continued to climb the stairs, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Oh? What happened?”

“Suicide,” said Alfred, pursing his lips and following Ivan up the stairs. On foot, no less. “He was the guy who wanted to make his ex jealous. Thing is, he got a little _too_ into the act. He kept calling the sex 'making love,' and he referred to me with all sorts of little pet names. I should have done something about it then, but I was inexperienced, and I just liked getting to have sex on a nightly basis. Well, then I made a _huge_ rookie error; it sort of comes with the territory that a succubus is going to make you feel special in bed, but I went a little overboard, and did some stuff that the older succubi always warned against. I told him he was the only witch I'd ever wanted to obey, and that he was my _favorite_ witch. I told him that he was so _handsome,_ and that I just felt _connected_ to him. It was only my second contract, and even though I'd been a human once, I'd become a demon long before I ever figured out how easy it is for them to fall in love. I didn't understand why we weren't supposed to lead people on outside of the bedroom during a contract.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “Anyone stupid enough to fall for a succubus deserves to have their heart broken. Is that what caused the suicide?”

“Pretty much,” admitted Alfred, running up ahead of him to open the door, seeming very much aware of just how spent Ivan was at that point. “One day he just pinned me against the wall and started kissing me. I was only, like, two hundred or so years old. I know that's a lot to you, but it takes a longer time for demons to emotionally mature than people.”

“I noticed,” mused Ivan, though that last sentence had other questions buzzing around in his head. The way Alfred talked, it almost sounded like...

“So naturally, I'm thinking, 'Oh, cool, he wants a quickie before we go out!' But he didn't touch my body. He pulled his head back, looked me right in the eyes, and told me, 'You're the only one for me. I know that this started out as a sham, but after all the time we've spent together, I've come to realize just how deep my feelings for you actually are.' Shocked me so much that I still remember it word for word more than a hundred years later. I was freaking out so much that I couldn't even speak. Didn't know how to handle the situation, inexperienced as I was. He thought he was like some sort of a storybook protagonist, and that it was his destiny to teach the terrible demon the meaning of the word.” Alfred pressed his hand to his forehead. “I was so, so stupid. I just thought it would mean more sex. We're forbidden from lying to our witches about loving them before we're even summoned, but I thought it was okay if I just kissed back and let him think that I felt the same way.”

“And?”

“And things were great, until one day he got insecure and wanted to hear me _say_ that I loved him back. When I couldn't do it, he just snapped. I tried to talk him out of it, but he ordered me to stay put while he- he tied a rope to the ceiling,” said Alfred, and from his voice, it was apparent that something was wrong. Ivan wasn't terribly concerned, since demons apparently didn't require oxygen in the same way that humans did, but it did strike him as odd that a creature that reacted so little to blood would freak out about a moron hanging himself. “He wrapped the other end around his neck, and- and I tried to tell him to stop. I _tried._ But he didn't listen to me. _No one_ listens. He just told me to shut up. Said that at the very least, he hoped that he would make a good snack in Hell.”

“Well, did he?”

Alfred let out a shaky laugh. “No. I never got to touch his soul. Whenever a witch commits suicide, they have to do an investigation to see whether or not their demon pushed them into it. Even though it hadn't been intentional, it was determined that my pushing the rules to their limits had been the main cause, and I had to release him from the contract. If I'd eaten him, I would have been eternally barred from the overworld.”

Ivan didn't respond to that. It was nothing more than a reminder of his ultimate fate. Still, a question had begun to fester in his mind based on some of the wording Alfred had used. “Alfred, what age were you when you became a demon?”

Immediately, Alfred froze. “What? Why this all of a sudden?”

“You said that you'd died before you learned about love as a human,” said Ivan. “You also told me that demons mature more slowly than humans, as though you hadn't finished maturing beforehand.”

“Oh. Well, umm, I'm not sure there would be an equivalent piece of your life to share, so-”

“I first killed a man at the age of ten. I stabbed him to death with a kitchen knife. He'd climbed through the window to molest my sister. My father helped me dispose of the body. He then scolded me for allowing my emotions to take control and killing someone using such a messy method, instead of figuring out how to do it cleanly.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, though he still managed a smile. “Oh, really? What a coincidence. My dad tied me to a cross, set it on fire, and left me to burn to death. I was tottering back and forth between life and death when Arthur appeared to me. Dumb fucker said he was _sorry,_ as though it were his fault. He told me that he would make sure I found peace in Heaven, if it was the last thing he did. Poor guy thought he was comforting me, but that just pissed me off. Not at him, though. At _God.”_ He spat the word out even as his tongue smoldered. “After all, at least the demon apologized.”

Ivan was beginning to regret asking, because Alfred's anger was quite literally heating up the room. He'd always thought that the succubus looked adorable when he was mad, but the look on his face right then wasn't 'Quit being such a jerk' angry. It was positively _livid._ “Alfred,” he addressed, trying to bring him back to reality before the house spontaneously combusted.

“What? Oh,” said Alfred, snapping out of it and looking a little sheepish. “Sorry.” He took a deep breath to compose himself. “Anyway, I told Arthur that there was no way I could ever go to Heaven if it was full of people like my dad. He tried to convince me that it was for the best that I go, and that I'd like it once I got there, but I wasn't having any of it. I told him that I'd rather go to Hell. Can't really remember much of what happened after that, but long story short, I woke up a demon.”

“How old were you, though?”

“Is it really that important?”

"I suppose not.”

And so ended the conversation.

 

* * *

 

“There.”

It was cold, dark, and silent, save for the sound of Alfred's humming of some spy theme or another. The house they were targeting was fairly run-down, with a splintered wooden porch and a couple broken windows whose holes had been filled in with old rags. Had Ivan not been on the team planning the murder, he would have been half-convinced that he'd come to the wrong place. The clientele of their organization was typically rather wealthy, and their targets were usually other wealthy people with whom they liked to associate with. However, there were plenty of exceptions, and that person in particular had witnessed a very wealthy, married man hiring a prostitute. Rather than just turn him in, he'd opted to use the pictures he'd taken as blackmail, something that their client hadn't taken very kindly to.

“So, am I on, then?” said Alfred, who hadn't taken on a mortal shell, and whose form was still invisible to mortals. Ivan was holding his cellphone up to his ear so as not to appear as though he were some crazy person talking to himself.

“Yes,” said Ivan, keeping his responses as innocuous as possible so as to avoid attracting attention. There was always a risk that someone around him understood English. Murder was a dangerous enough game as it was _without_ exposing yourself to such possibilities. Granted, the risk was significantly minimized, since Ivan's magical prowess had increased since the last time they went out; he wasn't invisible, as Alfred was, but he'd taken on a significantly better disguise than a hood and a pair of sunglasses. His face was completely unrecognizable, and his hair and eyes had been darkened to a deep shade of brown. “Go ahead.”

In a flash, Alfred was gone, having teleported into the house to scout ahead for any stragglers. Technically, he supposed it was possible to just allow Alfred to handle the task alone – it was a rather simple thing, after all – but he couldn't help but have a nagging sensation in the back of his mind that it wasn't something the demon could handle. He wasn't sure _why,_ but he'd always had fairly good instincts for such things, and he would always trust himself more than he would ever trust anyone else.

Sure enough, Alfred looked rather put out when he returned.

“You didn't tell me how he died,” he murmured, a difficult-to-read look on his face. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't happiness.

“What does it matter?” asked Ivan, smiling innocently and not meeting his eyes. _“Mov oan dralva.”_

Just as Alfred had told him, it wasn't nearly as overwhelming as the information overload he'd been put through the first time he'd attempted such a spell. Strolling along at a leisurely pace, he patiently waited until no one was looking before he coughed twice, the signal for Alfred to teleport the both of them inside.

Ivan had only teleported a few times before, and both of those times had been within the same room for a very short distance. He still wasn't quite used to the sensation of suddenly being somewhere else; it was a little dizzying, and as soon as he found himself inside, he very nearly toppled over.

“You okay?” asked Alfred, placing a hand on his forehead. “You look like you're gonna throw up.”

“I'm fine. Let's get this over with, and teleport back home. I don't feel like walking another two hours.”

“You have a car,” Alfred pointed out. “You were the one who refused to drive.”

“And risk having it in any way connected with this situation? No. I haven't stayed out of prison for this long by throwing caution to the wind,” said Ivan, shaking his head. Many people recited the phrase 'you can never be too careful,' but to him, it was less a figure of speech, and more a way of life. Paranoia was vital to success in such an industry.

Even knowing that Alfred had used magic to check the perimeter, he proceeded towards the body hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room with caution, constantly looking around to see if anyone was in the area. He knew that the magic was most likely trustworthy, but 'trustworthy' wasn't 'one hundred percent certain.'

Once he was sure the area was clear, he stepped forward, confident that nothing unexpected would jump him out of the blue. What he couldn't have guessed was that Alfred would reach out, grab him by the collar, and throw him against the wall. It was true that the succubus didn't look like much, but he was quite strong, and getting slammed against anything at that force was quite unpleasant, though certainly not the worst pain Ivan had ever gone through.

“Ssh!” was the only explanation the demon offered to the understandably pissed-off human, pressing his own body up right beside him. “I'll explain later, just be quiet!”

Ivan blinked in confusion once or twice as the familiar sensation of being covered in an invisibility spell ran through him, but any questions he might have had were answered as soon as he heard the sound of crackling fire. He watched with wide eyes as a slender figure emerged from the sudden burst of flames in the center of the room. It was a youthful-looking individual, clearly of Asian descent, though their gender was quite a bit more difficult to place. Nonetheless, looking at the horns, tail, and wings, it was clear that they were not to be messed with.

Rarely did Ivan ever get truly nervous, but right then, he could feel a tightness in his chest, and he did his best to remain absolutely still. While the demon didn't look like much at first glance, he had an imposing aura about him. He only had two to reference, but neither of them had emanated power in the same way that the man before him did. Matthew's aura had been practically imperceptible (or perhaps he just masked it well, seeing as he appeared to be the more intelligent of the two twins) and Alfred's, while powerful, was more indirect in how it put a person off-guard, rather than directly inspiring fear. The aura of the creature before him, however, didn't feel quite the same. It filled Ivan with a sense of power. Had he not known it was coming from a demon, and just been a passive effect in the background, it probably would have inspired false confidence in him.

The thing before him was, without a doubt, one of the rare devils of which the book had spoken of. Whatever gender they happened to be, they embodied the sin of pride.

The figure strolled around the room, appearing outwardly disinterested, but Ivan could tell by the way he was looking about the room that he was searching for something. What it was, however, was a mystery. For several tense minutes, Ivan simply stood there, watching it, breathing deeply and quietly so as to keep steady.

A mouse darted out from under the sofa, and was instantly bathed in flame that poured forth from the devil's hand.

“False alarm, then?” the demon murmured aloud. “But then, it's quite convenient that you chose to show yourself now. Almost as though someone influenced you to come out, in order to trick me into leaving.”

Ivan could hear Alfred's breath hitch; slowly, he turned his head, and was quite shocked to see the succubus looking genuinely stressed.

“Such a rookie mistake,” mused the devil, laughing at the apparent hilarity. “Come out, come out, little fledgeling! I don't much care for hunting.”

Silence filled the room, neither Alfred nor Ivan deigning to move, though the human felt a strange compulsion to do so. Was the devil using influential magic to push them out of hiding?

“If you can resist that and still hide your presence from me, I suppose you're either nonexistent, or fairly advanced in your training,” said the pride demon, plopping themselves down on the sofa. “Aiya! I'm too tired to track you down! For now I'll assume it's just the mouse. Just know that if I sense someone messing with things again, I won't hesitate to destroy you, my promise to Arthur be damned.”

With that, he vanished, and the aura faded from the room with him. Ivan didn't allow himself to breath a sigh of relief, however; there was no guarantee that he wouldn't come back. Quickly, he ran forward as the invisibility spell faded to tie the hanging man's hands together behind his back, making it obvious that he couldn't have possibly killed himself on his own, then signaled to an exhausted-looking Alfred to get them the hell out of there. In a flash, the two of them were back in Ivan's living room.

The succubus collapsed on the sofa. Ivan leaned against the wall as he recovered from dizziness.

“What,” he began, clutching his head, “was _that?”_

Alfred's words were spoken through gasps and pants, and not of the pleasured variety. Whatever he had been doing had clearly taken a lot out of him. _“That_ was Former Acting-Lucifer Yao,” was all he could say at first. “I felt that something was about to teleport to our location, which is why I hid us, but I didn't know it would be _him.”_ He slowly sat up straight. “If it were anyone else, it wouldn't have been a problem, but just hiding our presence from someone like him took almost everything I had.” The succubus flopped back down on the sofa, unable to maintain a seated position. “This is bad.”

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of Ivan's stomach. 'Promise to Arthur be damned,' the devil had said... “The witch-hunter? Why was he there? Do you know?” He had to stay calm. He couldn't let his emotions overwhelm him. Just shut them out, like he always had. A calm mind was a logical mind.

“There's hypersensitivity magic to alert you when there's something or someone out of the ordinary in a particular area. A hundred years ago, we used to compare it to a spiderweb; when the bug touches the strands, it alerts the weaver,” said Alfred, not moving anything but his mouth. “It's more like a burglar alarm, though, since it's just an alert, and it can be set off by anything. I hoped the mouse would get him to think it was just a false alarm, but Yao is smarter than that.” Alfred managed a smile. “Honestly, the fact that I kept us hidden is just a testament to how amazing I am.”

“Now is not the time for games, Alfred!” snapped Ivan, storming towards him. _“Why would he be there? Who is the witch controlling him?”_

“Why are you looking at me like I know everything?” Alfred barked right on back. “All I know is that, for whatever reason, he was watching that house.”

“Was the person living there the witch-hunter?”

“If they were, then he wouldn't still be watching it. Yao's not the type to stick around after his witch dies,” answered Alfred, staring up at the ceiling. “Besides, hard to believe that he would die at all. Winter always sounded so much more hardcore than that. Never met him, though, so I dunno.”

Ivan's eyes widened, and he grabbed Alfred by the shoulders.

_“Who did you just say controlled that demon?”_


	9. Rank and File

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan looks back on his childhood as he struggles to come up with a plan to deal with the latest roadblock on the path to vengeance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, a chapter released in a timely manner! What do you know? With this, the story has surpassed one hundred pages on the word processor I'm using to write it. Huzzah! If all goes according to plan, it'll go on for a while longer. I've always had difficulty committing to deadlines, but I'm doing my best to get better. It's a valuable life skill, even outside of one's hobbies. :P The way I see it, if I can't commit to things that I actually enjoy, I'm pretty much doomed IRL, where one is required to commit to ultra boring stuff that they'd rather not be engaging in.

In stories, dramatic things always tended to happen in the rain, but it was as clear a day as it had ever been. Perhaps, the young man had reasoned, it was simply because there was no drama to it anymore. At least, not on his end.

_“Oh God, please stop, I can't I can't I can't AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH-”_

“So noisy,” laughed Ivan, licking the blood off of the stainless steel faucet pipe in his hands in a manner not unlike the villain from some cartoon or another. “I thought I told you to be quiet. Perhaps you just like this, then? Mas-o-chist!” He practically sang the word.

“Please, I'll do anything! _Let me go!”_ screamed the man, his body so bruised and bloodied that it looked more like freshly ground meat than a human. His arms and legs were all broken in various places and twisted into impossible angles. It was truly impressive that he was still conscious.

“If you can stand, you're free to go whenever you please,” said Ivan sweetly, gently nudging him with the lower end of the pipe. “The door is unlocked. You can even have my car keys!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the keyring, which he jingled a few times in front of the man before he dropped them on his mangled face. His victim let out a noise that sounded very much like a whimpering dog.

“I can't take it anymore! P-please...” sobbed the man. “Please, please, please...”

Ivan rolled his eyes and smiled. “Oh, fine. I'm done having fun with you, anyway. Such a useless plaything.”

He retrieved his keys and pulled a switchblade out of his pocket. Before the horrified man on the ground could let out so much as a cry of fear, he sliced open his throat and watched the dark red blood spill out. It ran down the cracks and grooves of the tiled floor. At long last, it was time. He crawled on top of the man, straddling his body and staring into those terrified eyes with a terrifying smile on his face.

“Die.”

And the man died.

And it felt _glorious._

He laughed, loudly and merrily as that satisfactory feeling flowed through him. Oh, it wasn't quite _full,_ perhaps. In a way, he felt like a starving man desperately licking crumbs off the floor. But oh, what delectable crumbs they were! It was ever so savory, yet it prickled like a spicy pepper.

His head swiveled around as he heard the door open.

“Well?” asked a familiar voice. “What did you learn?”

“He didn't know anything,” answered Ivan with a shrug. Most might have faltered under Winter's intimidating gaze, but the young killer felt no fear. “Or if he did, he wasn't going to talk no matter what we did.”

“Didn't, or doesn't?”

Ivan motioned to the lifeless corpse on the floor.

He didn't even try to dodge the fist that met with his jaw.

“You _wait for my order to kill,_ you worthless brat!” hissed Winter.

Ivan licked the blood off of his split lip, and without hesitation, snapped his own dislocated jaw back into place. “He wasn't going to talk. You should know by now to trust my judgment,” he said simply, a bored look on his face. “Or are you too proud to acknowledge that I've yet to be wro-”

Another fist met his face, breaking his noise. He was used to pain, but it was simply an involuntary reaction by his body for his eyes to water in response to the injury. The tears clouded his vision, quite annoyingly so.

“You're still too young and foolish!” hissed Winter. “You think you know everything, but you have no idea just how much left you have to learn! That man was going to be our hostage in a negotiation!”

At the not-so-tender age of seventeen, Ivan would never admit fault. “Oh? And that's my fault, is it? Perhaps, had you seen fit to tell me, he might still be alive.”

 _“I shouldn't have to tell you!”_ roared Winter. “Had you heeded my orders, this would never have been an issue!”

“You never ordered me not to-”

_“You know you're supposed to wait until you're expressly permitted to kill!”_

Ivan crossed his arms over his chest as a few men spilled through the door behind his father, circling him like predators stalking their prey, all waiting for the order that they all knew was coming...

Sure enough, he could predict Winter's words before he even spoke them. “Take Ivan here to the chair! Maybe a little pain will teach him some humility!”

“Yes, sir.”

Even though he inwardly dreaded what was to come, Ivan still couldn't bear to admit defeat. As they led him out the door at gunpoint, he continued to glare at Winter with cold, remorseless eyes.

* * *

 

“Oh my God, Vanya, what happened to you?” Yekaterina practically shrieked as he walked through the door in the dead of night, his de-nailed fingertips wrapped in bandages, and his tattered shirt revealing a combination of fresh wounds and old scars that climbed from his chest to his neck like ivy.

“I fell down some stairs,” he answered without missing a beat.

“O-oh. Oh, yes, of course...” Yekaterina murmured. It was blatant bullshit, and the both of them knew it, but what could she do? It wasn't the first time Ivan had returned home looking half-dead, and it wouldn't be the last. “D-dinner is on the counter. Natalya had already made it back...”

Ivan limped through the doorway, peeled off his bloodstained shirt, and tossed it onto the floor without a second thought. He didn't even turn around to say 'thank-you' as Yekaterina picked it up and hurriedly left the room to put it with the rest of the laundry. What _did_ startle him, however, was Natalya popping out from around a corner.

“Father told me he sent you to the chair again,” she said, looking over his injuries with a scowl. “How dare he? You've never been wrong. He's too proud to admit that you're a better judge of people than he is.”

“I certainly hope you didn't tell him that to his face,” said Ivan with a sigh, hobbling around her to collapse on a sofa so old and worn that it still had stains from when Natalya had vomited on it as a baby.

“Of course not. I'm no fool,” said Natalya, wrinkling her nose. “You're very perceptive, Vanya, but you're too proud. Like he is.” She sat down beside him, pressing herself uncomfortably close, even as he tried to move away. “You must be patient. Soon he will know just how superior to him you truly are...”

“Natalya, you mustn't get so close when I'm covered in bruises like this. You're hurting me,” was all he said in response. She quickly pulled away, gritting her teeth.

Yekaterina entered the room carrying a bowl of soup, and crouched down in front of Ivan with a smile on her face. She'd gotten quite skilled at feigning happiness over the years. It was almost at a point where even Ivan struggled to spot the signs of stress and depression. She knew very well what it was her younger siblings did when they were supposed to be in school, and she simply didn't have the stomach for it.

“Look, I brought you some dinner!” she said in as cheerful a voice as she could manage.

“I can't hold the spoon,” said Ivan flatly, holding up his broken fingers.

“That's fine, I'll hold it for yo-”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Oh. Never mind, then,” said Yekaterina, forcing herself to laugh. She'd been through such conversations enough times that she knew insisting he eat was a lost cause. “I'll just put it away, shall I? You can take it with you for lunch tomorrow!”

Ivan didn't respond.

“W-well, you should go tell mother that you're home! She's been ever so worried...”

“Oh, that's right,” Natalya said, as though just remembering something. “I was going to tell you, but I forgot because Ivan came back; mother passed out in her bedroom. I think she might have hit her head on the way down.”

Yekaterina's eyes widened, and she hurried out of the room so fast that the bowl of soup in her hands spilled over the sides, leaving a splattered trail on the floor behind her.

* * *

 

“Winter is your father?” said Alfred, tail thrashing about like that of a frustrated cat. “You know, in hindsight, I probably should have connected the dots earlier. This makes so much sense now!”

Ivan was pacing back and forth across the room as Alfred continued to rest on the sofa, too drained to hover. “This is bad. This is very, very bad.”

“Why? So we got unlucky and crossed paths with Yao. Big deal! The odds of that happening again are-” began Alfred, but Ivan interrupted him with a smack across the face.

“Because Winter is the _leader of the organization we're trying to dismantle,”_ said Ivan coolly, staring at the pouting demon with a glare to rival all others. “He must have noticed someone messing with the window the last time... Alfred, how many of these alarm systems can a demon keep going at once?”

Rubbing his reddened cheek, the displeased succubus answered: “Well, to answer that, I'd have to explain demon hierarchy to you, so calm your tits and sit the fuck down.”

Much as he was disinclined to do as Alfred said, he knew it was for the best that he calm down and listen. Taking a deep breath, Ivan sat down on the coffee table in front of the succubus, rubbing his temples and taking a deep breath. The demon smiled and began to speak once again.

“Your average demon can keep tabs on a combined amount of space equivalent to the size of a football field,” said Alfred. “But Yao is no 'average demon.' See, in Hell, every one of us has a rank determined by our skill and power. At the very bottom, you have the feral demons I told you about before, who can't handle their own auras. Even though a lot of them are abnormally powerful, the fact that none of them can think clearly enough to channel it into a spell means that they're about as threatening as a sack of potatoes. One level above those are the unranked. Unranked demons are made up mostly of hatchlings, newly-formed cambions, and demons with auras so pathetically weak as to not even be noticeable. Of course, there are a few powerful unranked who simply haven't taken the ranking exams for one reason or another, but those are few and far between. Most of them are only marginally more threatening than the ferals, and live in the shallowest layers of Hell.”

“Ranking exams?”

“It's like a practical application test where you show the proctors what you can do with your power,” explained Alfred. “They'll tell you to make a fireball, so you make a fireball, and they grade you based on size, heat, duration, and so on. That sort of thing.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, then you have rank one, the lowlies, so named because the only ranking exam they've passed is the first and easiest one. It's not particularly good for dissuading attackers, but it's better than not having a rank at all. Like the ferals and the unranked, they tend to live in the most shallow layers of Hell, and have a somewhat below-average magical capacity. Above them at rank two are your average demons, who usually live in the middle layers of Hell. Then you have the the upper-ranked demons with above-average magical capacity living in the lowest layers, at rank three. Above _those_ are the elite; the test to become this rank is overseen by the current Acting Lucifer, as well as a council of all the rank fives. There are only seven rank fives, by the way; one for each of the seven deadly sins. They oversee Purgatory. Unless you have special permission, only the elite and above are considered trustworthy enough to live in Purgatory, by the way. Anyway, the only one above THEM is the Acting Lucifer, who can be any kind of demon, though they're usually devils.”

“That's all well and good, but what does this have to do with anything?”

“The average demon can sustain about a football field's worth of alarms, given a normal intake of food,” said Alfred. “Yao is the rank five devil, the single most powerful pride demon in Hell, save for Arthur. He can probably sustain, oh, about...” He spent a moment or two in deep thought. “A hundred times that.”

“In other words,” said Ivan slowly, thinking back on just how cautious his father always was, “he's probably watching the scene of every last murder committed up until it's discovered and investigated by the authorities.”

“Exactly.”

Ivan gritted his teeth. He hadn't expected to have to deal with another demon, let alone one of the most powerful demons in Hell. He was going to have to seriously re-think his plan. Or was he? Was it even worth it? Or was it simply hopeless? How could Alfred's power ever compete with-

“What, not gonna ask me what my rank is?” asked Alfred, poking the gloomy human's forehead.

Just how powerful _was_ Alfred compared to Yao? “Well, what is it, then?” Ivan clenched his fists. He couldn't give up yet. Even if it was just a tiny fraction of the infamous witch-hunter's power, he would make it work. He always did. Winter's pride would be his downfall.

“I'm a rank four,” said Alfred proudly, a smirk on his face. “How else do you think I kept us hidden from Yao?”

Ivan paused. “Truly?”

“Yes, truly! Out of all eight judges, six voted to bump me up when I tested,” answered Alfred, clearly bothered by the fact that Ivan didn't seem to believe him.

“Who were the two that didn't?”

A blush crossed Alfred's face. “Arthur and Yao, actually. I mean, I'm Arthur's student, so he's worried about showing bias! That, and I kind of blew up an entire wing of his castle during my test, but mostly the bias thing. I think.”

Ivan slowly scooted away, looking at the demon with a wary gaze.

“Oh, and Yao is just an asshole,” continued Alfred obliviously. “He said that any demon who can't pay back a simple debt of souls isn't worthy of rank three, let alone rank four.”

Crossing one leg over the other, Ivan continued to give him a disbelieving look. _“You_ are one of the most powerful demons in Hell?” Given Alfred's boastful nature, he was honestly surprised he hadn't mentioned that earlier. It was no matter. He could work with this... “So theoretically, in a one on one match, how would you stack up against Yao?”

“Well, during the test, you have to fight all eight judges one after the other over a period of eight days. Obviously, you're not expected to win, but they assess your abilities,” answered Alfred, licking his lips; it was clear that he was hungry, and Ivan knew he would have to feed him soon, to restore his energy. “So while the both of us have probably gotten stronger in the interim, I can tell you how I did in a match against him three years ago, as well as what I found out about how he fights.”

So _that_ was what the whole spiel had been building up to. Ivan found that the corners of his lips were curling upwards into a smile. Perhaps they still stood a chance, after all. Even if the succubus' memory of the fight was fragmented, even the slightest insight into your opponent was an advantage. Of course, given what he already knew about Yao – that being the fact that he was intelligent and powerful enough to have once ruled Hell – that also meant that _he_ fully understood _Alfred's_ style of fighting, as well. However, Ivan himself was an unknown factor. It was certainly true that he didn't even come close to having the same level of magical experience that Yao or Alfred did, but in some ways, that could also be twisted into an advantage. Many a professional poker player had lost to a newbie with no poker face in the past by virtue of automatically assuming that they would use advanced strategies. On top of that, Ivan had a _very_ good understanding of just how his _father_ fought. Provided he didn't let them know who he was, giving Winter a chance to explain Ivan's mindset to Yao, that could even mean that he and Alfred had a small strategic advantage, at least in terms of understanding who you were up against.

“Ivan, you're smiling all creepy-like, and it's really starting to freak me out,” said Alfred, who had an uneasy look on his face.

“My apologies. Do continue,” he said, unable to wipe the grin off of his face. He felt like a child that had just been told he'd won a chocolate factory. “How did the fight go?”

* * *

 

“And with this, we begin the second-to-last fight of the rank four exam!” said an imposing, though not particularly tall man with incredibly thick eyebrows. “Alfred Jones, rank three succubus! Are you prepared to face Yao Wang, rank five devil?”

The succubus in question looked positively delighted, his wings outstretched. “Fuck yeah, I'm ready! Let's do this thing!”

Surrounding the field of brimstone, thousands of demons of all ranks prepared to watch the match with eager eyes; it wasn't every day that a demon opted to improve their rank to that of the elite, and whether or not they succeeded, the fights were _always_ interesting, if only to see the council steamroll the competition. Though there weren't any bleachers, those further in the back were either using their wings or magic to hover high enough to see, creating a similar effect. Near the front were the six other rank five demons who were not in the match, sitting at a table to take notes. Peering through the crowd at the bottom were also a fair number of curious (and rather brave) humans, or at least their souls; after all, living humans couldn't enter Hell.

In the center of the field, between the two combatants, Acting Lucifer Arthur Kirkland turned to Yao. “Yao Wang, rank five devil! Do you accept the challenge by Alfred Jones, rank three succubus?”

The long-haired devil's tail swayed eagerly from side to side. “And get the chance to show him agonizing defeat in front of thousands of onlookers? You shouldn't even have to ask. I gladly accept.”

Arthur's eye seemed to twitch at the combined levels of immaturity being shown by both of the competitors, but nonetheless, he spread his massive wings and shot up into the air. The area around the field shimmered, as though a sparkling dome had been placed over it. A mere week ago, such high-level ranking matches had been done without such precautions, under the assumption that the two would have enough self-control to keep their fight on the battlefield. However, with the west wing of the castle completely obliterated and undergoing repairs, the ruler of Hell was not in the mood to take any more chances.

“Then let the match begin at the sound of the bell!” declared Arthur. His outstretched arm reached in the direction of the back of the massive, partially-destroyed castle about three quarters of a mile away. At the very top sat a massive black bell. Without so much as a nudge, it began to toll.

Alfred shot forward without hesitation, using his wings to push himself along faster. Looking unimpressed, Yao spun out of his way, and held out his hand. A massive ball of fire formed in front of it, and rocketed towards the succubus' back at a speed that could not possibly be dodged.

Nonetheless, Alfred managed to quickly turn around to hold both hands out in front of him. Just as the flames were about to reach is fingertips, he pulled both arms apart, and the orb split in two before it hit him.

“Oh no, you can block a basic spell that even the most lowly of demons can perform! What ever shall I do?” laughed Yao, his posture still completely relaxed. It was quite clear that he in no way regarded the individual before him as any sort of a threat.

Nonetheless, Alfred continued to grin. “You're gonna regret holding back against me, you know.”

From over the dome, Arthur looked on with critical eyes as Alfred began tossing fireball after fireball at Yao in an attempt to hit him. Were he a nightmare, powered by the sin of wrath, perhaps it would be a viable strategy to launch them all over the field until Yao was no longer capable of dodging them, but a succubus couldn't possibly keep something like that up long enough to tire out a rank five demon. Although the size and speed of his projectiles were impressive for one of his type – powerful enough to destroy a good portion of a very large building, in fact – at the rate he was going, and given what he'd seen of his student in the past, he would run out of energy within about ten minutes. It was a time that was impressive for the average wrath demon, let alone one powered by lust, but it took more than that to exhaust a former Acting Lucifer.

In order to have any hope of even being considered for a position among the elite, it was imperative that one rely on their natural strengths, at least to some degree. A powerful enough succubus with a good enough grasp of subtlety could influence their opponent to do things without them even realizing that they were being controlled. It was a concept that it was absolutely imperative for an elite succubus to understand. Alas, he feared that Alfred might forever be incapable of grasping such a concept...

That was when he noticed something strange. Yao was dodging, certainly, but not in a manner that was typical for him. Rather than simply getting out of the way, he was going out of his way to make showy motions. Someone of his rank and ability knew better than to make such wasteful movements, even against a novice. It was true that he and Alfred weren't exactly on the greatest of terms, but he'd never been the type to waste energy unnecessarily.

A small smile formed on Arthur's lips. So he _had_ taken his lessons seriously, after all. He was _trying_ to make Yao underestimate him and let his guard down, knowing full well that the older demon didn't believe him capable of trickery. Alfred had always been a bit of a ditz, lacking many things that most might consider common sense, but he wasn't quite as stupid as he let on, either. He wanted Yao to think that he was going to continue his foolish strategy until he passed out from exhaustion, when in reality, he was using his magic to slowly invade his mind, forcing him to act in ways that the devil himself would not question.

But Yao was not an idiot. If Alfred wanted such a strategy to work, he would have to act quickly and carefully, before his opponent caught on. It wouldn't take long before the demon of pride started to take notice of the foreign magic working its way into his body. On top of that, Alfred couldn't have him do anything overt that Yao wouldn't be able to believe that he'd decided to do on his own.

Whatever Alfred was planning, it had to be subtle, or he wouldn't stand a ghost of a chance. Unfortunately, subtlety had always been one of his weak points. Could he really pull it off? Arthur watched carefully. Naturally, Alfred had lost every one of the last six matches. If a demon could actually beat a rank five demon, particularly that of their own sin, that would make them eligible to be a rank five, themselves. While Alfred certainly showed the potential to reach such a level, he was only a few hundred years old, and lacked the necessary experience. However, he'd held his own well enough to be passed on to the next opponent each and every time.

Most first-time challengers were lucky if they got through one or two matches before they were deemed too weak to continue, but he'd demonstrated a level of power and creativity that had enabled him to continue. (Ironically, pride demons tended to have the most difficulty, since the nature of the test meant losing was all but inevitable, and most were simply unable to handle so much defeat.) Perhaps it was only his sin talking, but Arthur attributed much of that success to his own tutelage. Nonetheless, a knife made of poor-quality metal was not guaranteed to fare well against those of a higher quality, no matter who sharpened it. Alfred's own determination and skill had also helped him get as far as he had.

The only question that remained was whether or not he could do anything impressive enough to at least elicit some semblance of surprise from an Acting Lucifer. Getting into his head without being caught, even if only for a little bit of time, was almost an impressive enough feat, but it was a wasted effort if he didn't at least try to make something of it. How he chose to use the card he'd managed to get his hands on was what would decide whether or not he was permitted to face Arthur himself.

Of course, Arthur mused inwardly, Alfred had already faced off against him many a time as part of his training. He'd never won, of course, but the fact remained that he had a leg-up on his peers in that he had some small semblance of understanding as to how Arthur fought. Perhaps he would even last a whole ten seconds against him at full power! That would be something to see.

Alfred raised his wings, and took off into the air. Yao didn't immediately follow, choosing to instead wait a moment to analyze his direction and movement. Even against someone he knew to be far less capable than himself, it was clear that he wanted to end the fight quickly. He couldn't use his full power against Alfred, or it would look to the lesser demons as though he actually registered him as a threat. On top of that, it would defeat the purpose of the exam, since the point was to analyze and assess. If he wanted to stop Alfred from continuing, he had to beat him so effortlessly that it would be clear to all who watched that the succubus was not yet ready to be considered an elite demon.

At last, Yao followed, though he stayed below Alfred, intentionally remaining at a disadvantageous position so as not to appear as though he relied on the environment to win.

Predictably enough, Alfred hurled another series of fireballs towards Yao, who simply blocked them with the palm of his hand. At least, that was what appeared to happen. Arthur knew better; the fire had parted just a moment too soon. It was the sort of thing Yao would ordinarily notice, but Alfred had managed to keep his opponent's eyes from focusing on the flames, ever so gently exerting his influence to keep them focused on himself. Rather than dissipate on either side, the fire curled around the devil's back, singing his wings. Yao didn't let out any pained noises, but from the way he gritted his teeth, it was clear that the damage was far from negligible. Fire and heat in general didn't harm demons of their own free will; a caster had to give it the command to do so. In such cases, it was just as damaging as it would be to a human, though the burns healed much faster.

Yao's wings had been burned very badly, which was clear from the shift in his flight pattern. It wasn't nearly enough to put him out of commission – indeed, Yao could have easily ended the match much earlier, were he not handicapping himself – but simply managing to injure such a powerful being was worthy of an automatic pass to the next battle.

Unfortunately for Alfred, the exam wasn't over until _somebody_ lost, even if he'd already passed. Crossing his arms over his chest, Arthur watched and waited for the inevitable. Pride demons did _not_ take such blows gracefully.

Sure enough, it only took about forty seconds before Yao had Alfred pinned to the ground under one foot.

“You lose,” murmured Yao, unable to fully fold his wings behind his back. Despite being on the ground, Alfred took notice of that, and smiled smugly up at the undisputed victor. Arthur waved his hand, and the bell atop the castle rang, signaling the end of the match.

“This fight goes to Yao Wang,” he declared, removing the shield around them to land in front of the table where the other six members of the council sat. “And now, the council will make their decision.”

“Pass,” said a handsome blonde-haired male with a stubbly chin. The rest seemed to be in agreement, nodding their heads as he spoke. “Do have fun fighting your lovely student tomorrow, my beloved little kitten.”

Arthur made a mental note to punch Francis in the face for that nickname later. Alas, he had to remain calm and collected in public, lest people begin questioning their leader.

“Very well. Alfred Jones is permitted to move on tomorrow,” said Arthur coolly, still glaring daggers at the rank five lust demon. Even without looking, he could tell that Alfred was grinning like an idiot behind him. He turned around to face the succubus, whom Yao had finally permitted to stand. “This will be your final test. As is the tradition, you will be assessed by the current Acting Lucifer. I, Arthur Kirkland, shall be your last opponent.”

Alfred pumped his fist. “Get ready to lose, old ma- ouch!” he hissed, his wrist having been broken when Yao slammed him against the ground.

Arthur coughed, and only Francis knew him well enough to recognize that it was to hide a chuckle. “You are all dismissed for the day. Have a good night. And Alfred?” he added at the end, without using magic to amplify the sound of his voice.

“What?” inquired Alfred, whose wrist glowed red as he healed himself.

“I suggest you eat well tonight.”

The succubus stuck his tongue out at him. “As always!”

* * *

 

“So what you're saying is that he kicked your ass.”

“He kicked my ass _once,”_ Alfred corrected, as though that made all the difference. “But that's not important. You're a smart guy, you should get the point I'm trying to make. Demon auras are determined by their level of raw power, and demons aren't immune to their own auras. You catch my drift?”

Ivan contemplated that. “You're suggesting we use Yao's pride against him.”

Alfred nodded. “Exactly. I managed to burn his wings because he was too proud to consider that I might be trying to trick him and get into his head. I don't think he'll fall for the same trick again, but I can almost guarantee that he won't start off with his full strength. Devils like to play with their prey before they go in for the kill, like cats. You want to take them out quickly, before they unsheathe their claws.” He pursed his lips. “That's how Arthur always put it, anyway.”

“But at the same time, he's strong enough that a direct attack isn't going to work,” said Ivan thoughtfully. “So if we have to take him out in a way he won't expect, meaning we'll need a plan that can trick a creature that I presume is older than the both of us combined.”

“Older than the both of us combined and multiplied several times. That dude's first-generation, like Arthur; he was around during Lucifer's reign,” confirmed Alfred.

“Yet it has to be something we can execute in a timely manner,” Ivan continued, drumming his fingers on the coffee table beneath him. “On top of that, we have to deal with-” He stopped. “Alfred, how great would you say that Yao's power reserve is?”

“Better than mine,” Alfred admitted. “Your magic reserve is like a muscle; the more you practice, the more you can extract from souls, flesh, or – as is the case for me – sperm. Yao has been around since the beginning of humanity.”

“Nonetheless, give me a rough estimate. Would it be at all conceivable for him to drain himself entirely?”

Alfred began laughing, as though Ivan had just suggested that they try digging to the center of the Earth with their bare hands. “Technically, any of us can drain our own power pretty quickly if we were, for whatever reason, using as much magical energy as we possibly could, but Yao would never do that.”

“What about his witch?”

“You want to drain him through Winter?” said Alfred, incredulously. “How do you plan to get _him_ to use that much power?”

“It's just a fleeting thought at the moment,” said Ivan, grinding his boot into the floor. He had a lot to think about in the coming days. In the meantime, though, he had some shorter-term problems to address. “You're hungry, aren't you?”

Alfred immediately spread his legs, his clothing burning away, and his relieved smile revealing the sharp fangs within his mouth. “You have no fucking idea. I've spent this entire conversation wanting to jump you.”

Well, it would provide the both of them with some much-needed stress relief, Ivan supposed. In any case, it was a necessity that Alfred be well-fed and ready to go in the event that anything happened. The witch began to unzip his trousers and approach the weary succubus.

“Very well, then, let's fill you up.”


	10. Witch Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivan is ridiculously overwhelmed by the amount of challenges facing him, but refuses to abandon his quest, even if he's still questioning what it is that's motivated him to go through with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? See? I can pump out updates at a (slightly) more reasonable pace! Okay, okay, this should have been out sooner, I know, but give me a break, I was gone for two weeks without internet access. (Word of advice; do not go to Florida during the summer. You'll get sunburned on the way from your hotel to your car. I look like I have some terrible disease as a result of all the dead skin.)
> 
> Ahem. More to the point, please point out all errors. Remember, criticism is like pruning a garden. It's not a particularly fun process for anyone involved, but it makes for healthier plants. Don't be afraid to point out any errors, or otherwise just things you wish I'd done differently. Obviously I can't really go back and change a lot of the story itself, but I can learn from my mistakes going forward regarding pacing and characterization. Typos and general grammatical mishaps are very easy to change, though, so bring that up, too, if you see it. Thank you in advance, both for any criticism, and for just taking the time to read this fanfic in general. :3
> 
> And finally, a warning for mentioned underage in this chapter. Like, VERY underage. Nothing is explicitly described, but it comes up in conversation.

He felt like he was being consumed by carnal lust. What remained of the logical portion of his mind tried to explain that it was because Alfred was too tired to suppress his own aura, but the rest of him felt like he wanted to do nothing more than give up on his aspirations and fuck him for the rest of eternity.

Never before had he felt so physically attracted to a person. Alfred was making pitiful sounds below him, constantly begging him for more, pleading for him to be _rougher._ His entire neck was already covered in bruises where he'd been suffocated, and there were red marks all over his body where he'd been slapped, sucked, and bitten, from his face to his inner thighs. Of course, many of them were a bit hard to see from their current position, with the demon on his hands and knees, but they were still very much _there._

“H-harder, please! O-oh, master! Right there!”

“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled, clutching Alfred's hips so hard that a mortal's pelvis might have broken under the pressure. He couldn't explain why he felt so possessive, really. But then, he couldn't explain why he felt much of anything right then. The part of his mind that was currently in charge was the same part of his mind that took orders from his cock. Ordinarily, it was a very small and isolated subset of thoughts; Ivan had never considered himself a very sexual person. However, having a succubus in your life tended to skew things a bit, especially when that succubus was hungry.

“You, master!” said Alfred, his forehead pressed against the sheets as he was mercilessly pounded. His voice was just the right mix of pleasured and desperate. “I submit! I submit! _Oh, fuck!”_

“You know, I've been told that lust is a sin associated with cows,” said Ivan, grinning wickedly. He didn't have to look in the mirror to know that he had that same crazed look in his eyes that he always got when he was about to murder someone. It was certainly just as exciting as murdering someone, anyway. “Perhaps I should brand you like one.”

The succubus' tail twitched, and his folded wings rose a little. Even if the heat wouldn't have any actual effect, the idea alone was clearly enough to excite him.

“And you're proud like a horse, master,” said Alfred. He leaned back, determined to push himself as far down on Ivan's sizable length as he could. “Hung like one, to. _Ah!_ I can't remember the last time I've been fucked this deep!”

“I should have been born a demon. More suitable for me, I think,” he purred. He slapped Alfred's thigh and gripped it hard enough to bruise a human.

“But then your sperm wouldn't be nearly as nutritious,” whined Alfred. He gasped and squirmed beneath each hard thrust. “M-more! Fuck me harder! I want you to fuck me until I split apart!”

Ivan highly doubted that was even possible, given a demon's durability, but it didn't stop Alfred from continuously begging for all sorts of horrible abuse. Many of the things that spilled from his lovely lips would make even the most hardcore of masochists shrink back in complete terror; at least twice he'd expressed a desire for Ivan to chop off his legs and the entire upper half of his body to use what remained like some sort of a male sex toy, or to be impaled on some sort of pole and roasted over a spit like a pig.

They continued on like that for several rounds. Since one's sense of the passage of time tended to get a bit muddled during sex with a succubus, Ivan had deliberately set a time limit for Alfred to follow in order to ensure that they both got adequate sleep, and the demon was determined to ensure that he came as many times as possible before it was over. By the end of it all, Ivan was completely and utterly exhausted, and found himself falling asleep rather quickly, in spite of the dire circumstances. It was no wonder that they were believed to suck away life force; it was all too easy to lose yourself, especially seeing as how from the moment they began, the demon had found that he didn't have the strength to mask his aura properly. At full force, Ivan could easily see himself getting lost in pleasure for days.

With all that having been said, Ivan found himself feeling a strange contentedness as he rested his head against the pillow and drifted off, the demon already fast asleep and snuggled up beside him. It was almost cute, if one ignored the black horns, wings, and tail.

As he slept, he found himself pulled into a world that was foreign to him, and yet familiar at the same time.

“Mary Jones, you have been found guilty of the crime of witchcraft, the penalty for which is death,” said a voice that was all too familiar.

A beautiful woman with long, golden hair stood crying on a raised platform, a noose around her neck, though Ivan found that he'd become so short that the only reason he could see a thing was because he was at the front of the crowd. There was a dampness on his face that it took him a moment or two to recognize. Tears?

The woman turned to the priest with pleading eyes. “Jonathan, darling, you know I'm not a witch!”

“The reality of your crimes is self-evident!” said the priest, his words backed by much cheering. “Did you not _admit_ to receiving the book we found from a demon?”

With her hands tied behind her back, it was all she could do to wipe her tears away on her shoulder. “I didn't make a contract! I never sold my soul! I'm _not a witch,_ Jonathan! Please!”

“Liar!” shouted a voice in the crowd.

“Heathen!”

“Let her hang!”

It was a symphony of jeers from people who had once considered her their neighbor and friend. Throughout the entire crowd, only one voice was mournful.

“Mama!” cried Ivan, filled with devastation. “Papa, don't do it! Don't kill mama!”

“May God have mercy on your soul,” were the final words the priest spoke. There was no sign of despair in his eyes. It was as if he had completely cut off all emotional ties binding him to the woman he'd once called his wife.

“Alfred, don't loo-” the woman began, only to be interrupted as the platform below her was dropped. Ivan could only watch her terrified face as her body fell down, down, down... And then _stopped,_ leaving nothing but a body swinging about by its distended neck.

 _“NO!_ Mama! _Mama!”_

He couldn't tear his eyes away as her corpse continued to sway in the breeze. Back, and forth. Back, and forth. It was an almost hypnotizing motion. He'd seen death before, oh yes, but never one brought about by human hands. Was that truly what God desired? Was that the will of a merciful deity?

Mama had never yelled at him. Mama had never called him a demon. Mama had never beaten him until he could hardly stand, forced to limp down the long road to church. But mama had been bad, and papa was good. The body before him was the result of _justice._ He was meant to rejoice, for the 'witch' had been banished from their midst, down to the depths of Hell where she belonged.

If such was the will of God, then God was a cruel and unmerciful being.

Something filled him to the brim, a comforting sensation that eased the hysteria and dried his tears. He'd felt it before, certainly, but never to such a degree. Pure, beautiful _hatred._ Hatred of the world. Hatred of everything in it. Hatred of the twisted creature that had created it. His expression darkened as the man he called 'papa' stepped down from the platform and pushed through the crowd towards him.

“Come, Alfred. We must be getting home.”

Ivan stared up at him through the tears still fresh on his face.

“Yes, papa.”

He wanted to burn it all. Their homes. The church. The woods. The world. They would be better off, for the world itself was a place of misery. Destroying it was merciful. Heroic, even. The little boy made a wish in that moment; a wish for the power to destroy the world and everything in it, starting with _dear_ old papa.

 

* * *

 

 

“MMMPH!”

His wrists were tied behind his back, and his legs were bound tightly together. A blindfold covered his eyes, and a thick rope had been shoved into his mouth and tied around the back, gagging him. With his vision gone, his other senses became his only means of interpreting the world around him. As far as he could tell, he was being carried over someone's shoulder, his torso hanging upside-down and pressed against someone's back while his legs were held in place on the other side.

He was picked up again, and draped over something else, only to be tied in place to ensure he couldn't wiggle his way off. By the size, fur, and familiar whinny, it became quite apparent that it was a horse. Ivan could hear the clink of the stirrups as the man who'd been carrying him mounted the animal. In moments, they were off at a trot, which proved incredibly uncomfortable in such a position. Every time its hooves met the ground, it was like being punched in the gut.

For what felt like hours, they continued on in silence. Agonizing silence. Terrifying silence. What was happening? Where were they going? Ivan had no idea, but he was too small and weak to resist.

When it was finally broken, he wasn't sure if the familiar voice made the situation better or worse.

“I won't let you get away with it,” said his father, in an eerily calm voice. “You gave my wife that book and dragged her soul down to Hell, you vile monster.”

The rope in his mouth left him unable to respond, and so Ivan could only let out pathetic, muffled sobs.

“I loved her, you know,” he said mournfully. “But then, you wouldn't know anything about love, would you? Some may buy into those crocodile tears of yours, but I'm a man of God, and I will not be so easily taken in. Tonight, I will send you back from whence you came!”

Ah, so that was it, then. He would die just like she had, because he was a bad person. Was that it? Ivan's teeth clamped around the rope in a combination of rage and fear, the blindfold already soaked with tears.

 _No._ He didn't want to die. What had he done wrong? What action had he taken that was so heinous that he was no longer fit to walk the Earth? Why? _Why?_

“I bet you're wondering how I figured out your secret,” said the priest. “It was obvious, really. My wife is barren, beast. She and I had gone on trying to have a child for a long time before you came along, and we kept trying after you were born, but to no avail. Yes, _you._ After years of effort, one day I came home to find her with you in her arms. At first, I was too happy to question why she hadn't appeared to be with child before then. I thought you were a miracle. But then you began to _grow,_ and you began to _question.”_ His voice grew bitter. “And the worse you did at your lessons, the more I began to look back on the circumstances behind your appearance in our lives. From there, it became obvious. You took advantage of my wife's grief at being unable to conceive. She sold her soul for the chance to raise Hellspawn.”

'It's not true!' he wanted to scream. 'I'm not a demon!' But nothing came out, save for a shaky wail.

“You took _everything_ from me,” said his father as the horse stopped. Ivan could hear him getting off and pulling things out of the saddlebags. Something metallic, like tools. Then the sound of jamming something into the dirt, and a hammer hitting it repeatedly until it was in the ground. More hammering, and more...

He was lifted up once more, and pressed up against something that felt like a long wooden board. Unable to move, he was easily held in place while rope was wrapped around his legs, waist, and chest, binding him tightly to it. It was a very claustrophobic sensation. The most Ivan found he was able to do was wiggle and cry. There was simply no escaping the painfully tight bindings keeping him still. He heard a grassy sound as something itchy was piled up around his legs. It felt like very dry hay...

His breath caught in his throat as he heard something he _definitely_ recognized.

Surely that wasn't the sound of flint against steel...?

Everything suddenly clicked into place. The dry hay at his feet. The wooden board he was tied to. In a panic, Ivan began to thrash about in earnest. It couldn't end in such a way. Surely it wasn't real! It was all just a terrible dream, and he would wake up, and his mother would be there, and everything would be well with the world!

“Rot in Hell, demon,” were the last words his father spoke before he could hear nothing but the sound of hooves racing off into the distance.

Ivan couldn't even scream anymore. He was breathing too hard and fast for that, to the point where he was beginning to feel lightheaded. His heart was beating in such a way that it felt like it was slamming against his ribs, pumping ice-cold blood through his veins. He could feel the heat become greater around his ankles, and thick smoke filled his lungs instead of air.

Though he couldn't see, he knew very well when the fire reached his feet. He'd suffered minor burns before, but the pain was greater than he could have ever imagined. It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it _hurt._ Searing agony shot through every fiber of his being, and he bit into the rope in his mouth so hard that his jaw ached. Though he tried to hold his breath to prevent the smoke from getting into his lungs, he could only keep from breathing for so long, especially when the panic was prompting him to start hyperventilating.

He was going to die, wasn't he? It was such an obvious fact, but it was too difficult to swallow. Someone would save him, wouldn't they? Someone would untie him, wouldn't they? It couldn't be over. It couldn't! He would wake up! His father would come back! Someone else would find him, and _it hurt it hurt it hurt IT HURT IT HURT..._

And then, suddenly, everything stopped. The pain was gone, like it was never even there in the first place.

“I'm sorry,” said a voice that Ivan could have sworn he'd heard before. It was a male voice, with a mainland accent. He felt fingers against the back of his head, and in mere moments, the cloth over his eyes had been removed and tossed aside. Following that, the gag was removed from his mouth.

Ivan did his best to blink away the tears in his eyes that fogged his vision. Despite the darkness, the flames at his feet continued to glow, illuminating the man before him, even as the moon hid behind a thick layer of clouds.

“You're the one who gave her the book,” he said in a wheezy voice, struggling through the simplest of words. It felt as though he were breathing sand instead of air.

The man had carried himself with such pride, before, but he did not appear proud of himself right then. There was a look of genuine regret and remorse on his face, and a weariness in his eyes.

“That I did,” he said softly, maintaining eye contact as he spoke. “This is my fault. Only a fool would attempt to dispute that.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence between them, a steady contemplation of the situation.

“Why?” Ivan said at last. “Why did you do it?”

The stranger took a deep breath, and sighed. “I thought I could help.” His gaze trailed downward, to the flames sitting frozen in time at Ivan's ankles. “I was wrong.”

Ivan, too, turned to look at the impossible occurrence. “You're a demon,” he said, though his tone was not accusatory, so much as a simple statement of fact.

“I am.”

“You just said you tried to help me, though. Why?”

The demon reached out, and wiped the tears from Ivan's eyes.

“Because you wanted to know if God loved the devil,” answered the demon. “You weren't content to accept the cruelty of the world. You demanded answers from the good little lambs, all content to follow their shepherd from the grassy plains to the fields of stone.”

Ivan licked his chapped lips, and stared down at the creature's feet.

“You apologized,” he murmured.

“I committed a grievous error,” said Arthur in a tired voice. “I thought I could lead your family to the grassy plains, but instead, I only got you cast out of the flock.” He pressed a hand to Alfred's cheek. “But I promise you, I will make this right. I can't possibly fix your lungs, but I will personally see to it that your stay in purgatory is as brief as can be. You will make it to Heaven if it kills me!”

“That's fine,” said Ivan, shaking his head. “I don't want to go to Heaven.”

The demon's eyes widened, and a look of horror came over him. “Why ever not?”

“Papa is going to Heaven, isn't he?”

A terrifying look came over the stranger, and he bared his teeth, revealing sharp fangs. “If that's what frightens you, I will see to it that he never makes it. I will _personally_ devour his very soul.”

“God is there, too, right?”

“Of course,” said the demon, forcing a smile. “You'll be safe-”

“Why didn't God apologize?” interrupted Ivan. “You're a demon, and you apologized. Why doesn't God have to? God is the one who made things bad in the first place! Papa did this to me because God willed it! I will _never_ go to Heaven! I would rather stay in Hell!”

The demon seemed quite bothered by such a prospect. “You can't stay in Hell forever! If you leave purgatory, your soul could become corrupt! Other demons might devour you! You would _cease to exist,_ Alfred!”

Ivan shook his head. “I don't care. It's better that way. I should just...” The tears began to flow from his eyes again. “I should just disappear.”

“No!” said the demon, baring his fangs once more. “You will not disappear! I won't allow it! You-” He gritted his teeth. “Please, lad. I promise you'll like it there. You can be happy, for all eternity!”

 _“I won't be happy!”_ cried Ivan. “It will _never_ be happy! _Nothing_ has ever been happy!”

The demon sighed once more. “I won't let you become a lost soul. But...” It was clear he was struggling with something. “It's impossible for me to force you to go to Heaven. There's only one other option I can possibly offer you.”

Ivan slowly lifted his head. “What's that?”

“I can,” Arthur began, clearly reluctant. “I can shatter your soul, and make you a demon. That way, you can defend yourself. But Alfred,” he went on, “if I do this, you will never know the joy of Heaven. You will become bound to Hell by the weight of a single sin which you will be eternally plagued by an overwhelming desire to indulge in. Never again will you feel whole. You will be consumed by an insatiable hunger for human souls, and you will live forever in a world dominated by the strong, wherein the weak and humble are mercilessly crushed. I can teach and protect you, but if you ever stray too far from my side, I can't promise that you'll be safe. Nonetheless, it's a safer existence than that of a powerless soul.”

“You'll teach me?” said Ivan, feeling hopeful for the first time since his mother's conviction. “Will I live with you?”

The demon nodded.

“Can I...” Ivan began, hesitant. “Can I call you my big brother?”

“If it pleases you,” said the demon, and Ivan could have sworn he saw the faintest hint of scarlet tinting his cheeks.

“Okay, then,” said Ivan, smiling. “Let's do it.”

The stranger put his thumb to Ivan's forehead, and he immediately felt a great heat from within, like the fire below him was invading his very core. He could feel a strange sensation in his chest, like something was squeezing his heart. The demon's green eyes had become fiery red, and glowed like hot embers.

 _“What is it that thou sought most from this life, mortal?”_ asked the demon, and Ivan felt as though he could hear his voice resounding through his entire body.  It felt as though he were channeling something bigger than himself as he spoke.  Some ancient and terrible power. _“Allow me to grant thee that which the Lord forbade.”_

“I-” stammered Ivan, thousands of different thought flickering through his mind. What _did_ he want? Seven wishes appeared in his mind, though some burned brighter than others. Did he want to show the world how great he was? Did he yearn to bring his wrath down upon those who had done him harm? A life of comfort, or luxury? No... “I wanted papa to love me.”

_“Then love thee, the world shall, fledgeling foocubus.”_

And with that, he felt his very being burst into thousands of tiny pieces.

 

* * *

 

Ivan immediately sat up as he awoke in the pitch-black room, gasping for breath. It felt as though he'd just had a terrible nightmare, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it involved. How strange. He didn't usually react like that to such things, but as he sat there under the blankets, he found that his heart was racing. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he felt a compulsion to lift the covers and check his feet, only to find that they were fine.

“Somethin' wrong?” said a sleepy Alfred, rubbing his eyes and lifting his head to check the clock. “Dude, it's still, like, three in the morning. I know you're anxious, but you've gotta rest.” His head flopped back down on the pillow, only for one of his horns to puncture the fabric. “Aww, shit. I'll fix it in the morning.”

“It's nothing,” said Ivan, shaking his head and forcing himself to lay down once more. “Just a bad dream.”

“Mm, I know the feeling,” said Alfred, still sounding half-asleep. “Just the other night, I had a dream that none of the cocks I was handling would ejaculate.”

“Alfred, that's got to be the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”

“...and then everyone was a dinosaur...”

Ivan closed his eyes.

“...and I starved to death...”

He began to drift off to sleep. Alfred, it seemed, was getting more woozy with every passing second, his words sounding more like yawns than anything intelligible.

“...and papa said I deserved it...”

Ivan's eyes snapped open again, memories of all those dreams he'd forgotten flooding back to him in an instant.

Well, _shit._

 

* * *

 

He decided not to share what he'd seen with Alfred, at least not initially. Lord only knew how the demon might react to such a thing. If someone suddenly came up to Ivan and told him that they'd some of the most significant points of his life in dream form, he probably would have stabbed them. Though, perhaps his potential reaction was not a good indicator for the general populace.

Besides, there was always the possibility that they were just dreams. Dreams that made too much sense, had been in the language Alfred had grown up with, and that lined up perfectly with what he already knew. The more Ivan thought about it, the more he realized that the odds of him having imagined everything were significantly smaller than it having been memories.

Nonetheless, that morning, he simply _had_ to put it to the test.

“So tell me about your older brother, Alfred,” he'd said casually over a piece of toast, reading the news on his laptop in search of any word on the murder cases he and Alfred had clued investigators into.

“Matthew? He's not older, he's my twin!”

“Not him. Arthur.”

“Oh, Arthur's just- wait,” said Alfred, who was sitting on the counter; even he appeared to be aware of the importance of conserving his power, and had refrained from using it on anything frivolous. Ivan had even ordered him to let out some of his aura, both to keep him from using up as much energy masking it, and to hopefully gain a bit of resistance. As a result, it was difficult to resist staring hungrily at the succubus, no matter how many times he told himself it was just an aphrodisiac. “I never told you that I called him my older brother, did I?”

“You mentioned it a few weeks ago,” said Ivan. People were easily led to believe such things, so long as one said it confidently. Their minds would even fill in the blanks with false memories, if you insisted for long enough. Regardless, he'd confirmed beyond any reasonable doubt that what he'd seen had been true, at least partially.

“Oh,” said Alfred, accepting that answer even more easily than Ivan had expected him to. In hindsight, it wasn't too surprising. How _else_ could he have possibly found out? “Well, Arthur is kind of a stick in the mud. He's the Acting Lucifer, so he's always gotta keep up appearances, and stuff. Speaks all formal-like, doesn't tolerate anyone's crap, that sort of thing. He's far from perfect, though, even if he doesn't like to admit it. For example, he can't cook for shit. One time, he tried making Mattie and I some grilled cheese. As a treat obviously, since demons can't get any nutrients out of that sort of stuff. And do you know what he did?”

Ivan didn't particularly care, but he _had_ asked, even if the answer itself hadn't been what he'd sought. “What?”

“He put the cheese directly on the grill,” said Alfred, snickering at the memory alone. “You should have seen the look on Francis' face! I swear he would have had a nervous breakdown if he weren't laughing so hard!”

“On the grill? Truly?” asked Ivan, somewhat disbelieving. “Who on Earth would do such a silly thing?” Even brilliant, powerful men had things that were simply beyond them, Ivan supposed, as his eyes darted over articles in the news.

_Investigators are looking into the suspicious circumstances behind the death. The only evidence of foul play was that the victim's hands were bound behind his back. Speculation seems to point towards an assisted suicide, but the possibility of a homicide has not yet been completely eliminated..._

“I know, right? Some people just have no common sense at all!” said Alfred, sticking a metal fork into the toaster to retrieve the piece of bread he'd inserted earlier. “Anyway, there was this other time when he tried to flambe some bananas, like Francis had, but he couldn't figure out that you use alcohol to make the fire, so he tried using his magic, instead.”

“Don't tell me he lost control.”

“Arthur would never lose control of a fire,” said Alfred, shaking his head. “His _control_ was great. He just didn't realize that the fire's supposed to be brief. He burned those things for minutes on end. Needless to say, the result was almost totally inedible.”

_“Almost?”_

“Arthur's done a lot for me,” said Alfred, crossing one leg over the other and staring down at the piece of toast in his hand. “The first time he cooked for me, I couldn't find it in me to tell him how much it sucked, so I eventually got used to it. Now it only makes my stomach churn a little, rather than making me violently ill.”

“Seems like he's done more harm than good,” mused Ivan without thinking.

“What's that supposed to mean?” demanded Alfred, sitting up straight to glare at Ivan. “I mean, I may get pissed at him every now and then, and maybe he turns every food he touches into charcoal, but Artie is a great guy.”

“The ruler of Hell, a great guy?” said Ivan, raising an eyebrow. “We're talking about the same Arthur here, aren't we?”

“Nobody's perfect,” said Alfred. He got off of the counter and gave Ivan a gentle whack with one of his wings. “But yeah, he's actually a pretty upstanding person. Believe it or not, you can't have a total psycho ruling Hell. There's a lot of delicate infrastructure in place, not so much for the demons as for the humans. It's the Acting Lucifer's responsibility to ensure that Purgatory is kept secure, to make sure ranking exams are going smoothly, and to keep the most powerful demons of Hell occupied. Anyone who tries to eat one of the souls in Purgatory faces immediate execution.”

“Why are the rules so strict?” inquired Ivan.

“Because if demons were allowed to eat all the souls in Hell, it would disrupt the balance of the system,” said Alfred, as though it were obvious. “If souls stop making it from Purgatory to Heaven, it would mean disaster for all of us. Demons below rank five are forbidden from knowing the exact details, but the point is, the world itself would come to an end. No more world means no more demons. It's in almost everyone's best interests not to let that happen.”

“Almost everyone's?”

At that, Alfred grinned.

“There are some demons who are so far gone or disillusioned that they would be thrilled to see it all come to an end. If it weren't for the penalty, they might start randomly devouring souls left and right until it all breaks down.”

_He wanted to burn it all. Their homes. The church. The woods. The world. They would be better off, for the world itself was a place of misery. Destroying it was merciful. Heroic, even._

There were some who might have wet their trousers at the fact that they were chatting with a demon who harbored a desire to destroy the fabric of reality, and who was steadily growing in power and skill until they had the capability to do so without interruption. Ivan, however, merely paused a moment between bites, before remembering that he was going to have ceased to exist by that point anyway, and that it was not his concern. So long as the people who wronged him were punished, he couldn't have cared less.

...Why did he feel wronged, again?

_Yekaterina._

Why did he care about her?

' _She's my sister,'_ he told himself. _'It's a biological inclination.'_

A lot of things normal people felt and did were biological inclinations. Why did he care about her? Or, heck, why did he care about Natalya, who could take care of herself just fine? He cared nothing for his mother and father, the former of whom had been a neglectful drunk, and the latter whom had treated him like an unwieldy tool. Well, perhaps not a tool; tools didn't require discipline. Maybe a dog was a better point of comparison.

So _why?_

 _“Vanya, go get some groceries. We're almost out of food,”_ Natalya had told him one day.

 _“Fine,”_ he had replied, begrudgingly. Anything even remotely related to money had been stored in Yekaterina's room. She was the only one in the house who worked, after all. At least, engaging in legal activities. Their mother was lucky if she could drag herself to the store to buy herself more vodka. She hardly even noticed that Ivan was drinking about a quarter of it and watering down what was left. Heck, he probably could have replaced it with paint thinner, and she wouldn't have noticed until she was dead.

So he'd gone to her door, and lifted his hand towards the doorknob, only to stop when he heard someone speaking inside...

 _“Please forgive Ivan and Natalya,”_ he'd heard, through muffled sobs. _“They're so young. They haven't had anyone to teach them any better. Please, oh Lord, forgive them for what they've done. For what they will do. I know they would never have done any of it if they had only been raised to know better. Please, please, please...”_

“Then we should hope that such demons are never permitted to do so,” said Ivan coolly. If Alfred was bothered by his words, he didn't show it.

So, he not only had to destroy the most powerful criminal organization in the world, he also had to ensure that Alfred was either unable to become powerful enough to go through with his secret desire, or convince him – a soulless demon who'd been brutally murdered by his abusive father – that life was worth living, despite not entirely believing it himself.

Well, it wasn't like he'd had any _plans_ for what to do with his life after he'd exacted his revenge, right? Surely he could squeeze 'succubus therapy' somewhere in between finding adequate therapy for himself and dying (or otherwise being too dementia-ridden to communicate). That gave him a total time span of, oh, maybe a whole week. Two, if he was REALLY lucky.

“So, since it's important that I store up as much power as I can, why don't we have a little romp?” said Alfred, sliding his legs apart and dragging his hands across his inner thighs. Ordinarily, Ivan would simply look away, but having even a fraction of Alfred's aura in the air was making it a very difficult gesture to completely ignore. “I'm still a bit peckish. Let me take you in nice and deep, master...”

If any of his co-workers ever whined about having too much on their plate to deal with again, he was going to stab them. Repeatedly.

 

* * *

 

“So the alarm can only be set off by living things?” asked Ivan quietly as they strolled around the premises. Alfred had taken on the form of 'Alexandra' once again, and was carefully inspecting the magic in the area. For all of his general idiocy, the succubus was proving to be surprisingly helpful in giving him information to work with. From just a brief walk by the building, he'd figured out several key bits of information:

  1. The type of alarm that Yao had set up didn't check for magic. Apparently, magic could only be sensed in person. Sensing it from a greater distance than the distance one could sense another demon was impossible, even for a former Acting Lucifer. Nonetheless, after the last time they'd 'fixed' their crime scene, Winter had to be on to the fact that their mysterious foe was a witch.

  2. Movement itself didn't actually trigger the type of alarm Yao had set up; only the movement of living things. There were spells to check for movement of any sort, of course, but they took much more energy, and Yao couldn't afford to be expending that much while simultaneously teleporting around every time a house settled, on top of whatever Winter was doing with his power on the side. They could move and break as much as they wanted, so long as they didn't actually set foot on the premises. It was quickly becoming apparent that without Alfred, Ivan would not only have been incinerated on the spot the very moment he stepped into the hanging victim's shabby little house, but he wouldn't have a chance of accomplishing his goal even if he'd survived.

  3. Plants counted as living. They could smash as many tables, computers, and expensive vases as they wanted, but if they so much as nudged a potted plant, they would be dealing with Yao again, and something told Ivan that he wasn't going to head out without thoroughly inspecting the place. His demonic familiar had admitted – rather begrudgingly – that if Yao found them, Ivan was as good as dead, and Alfred would end up on the receiving end of a beatdown so severe that he might be out of commission for years. According to the foocubus, that was not an exaggeration. In fact, the only thing saving him from being destroyed entirely would be the fact that Arthur would almost certainly retaliate by destroying Yao. What they were doing was dangerous for both of them, even if more so for Ivan.




“We can't just stand out here looking suspicious. Wait until no one is looking, then get rid of your body and turn me invisible,” ordered Ivan softly, so no one could hear. The houses in the area they were in were fairly spaced-apart, but one could never be too careful.

“I'm on it, sweet-seed!”

“Don't call me that.”

“Aww.”

It wasn't long before Ivan couldn't see himself anymore, and Alfred appeared to be back in his demonic form, stretching his arms and wings like a bat that had just woken up. He had to hide his aura in public, energy consumption be damned, so Ivan was relieved to find that the act was only mildly attractive. Nonetheless, perhaps due to some leftover traces in his system, he still found himself constantly bothered by fleeting moments wherein he wanted to pin Alfred down and fuck him into the dirt.

Carefully, Ivan peaked into the window, though he didn't touch the building; that would set off Yao's alarm. The curtains were closed. Unfortunately, were he to open them, what was inside would be visible from the street. He circled the house, over to the windows in the back that would be safe from the general populace as he peaked through the curtains, but the only ones he could find were either on a porch – which he couldn't risk standing on, for fear of setting off the alarm - or otherwise had potted plants just inside that were obscuring his view, which he couldn't move without magic. The only windows he could possibly peek through were the large ones in the front with drawn curtains, which weren't alive, and could be moved.

That created a problem. According to the plan, the body would be just behind those curtains, at the kitchen table, overdosed on medication. Unlike a hanging death, it wasn't blatantly _dead,_ and people could easily just pass it on by believing him to be passed out drunk. The real issue was that, if anyone was paying attention, they might notice that things in the house were moving seemingly on their own. That was problematic for numerous reasons, including the rule of discretion in the book. His contract could be terminated if too many people were exposed to that, even if the rest of the world passed it off as insane rambling.

Still, there were detours around almost every road block.

“Alfred, I'm going to need a distraction,” said Ivan, and Alfred gave him the strangest grin, as though he'd been _waiting_ for just such a command.

“I can draw everyone's attention away from you without a problem,” said Alfred, winking suspiciously. “But I need you to show me how to write and say a few things in Russian...”

Ivan's eyes narrowed. “Dare I ask what for?”

“It's technically optional, but it'll be hilarious.”

Alfred whispered what it was he wanted translated into Ivan's ear.

“...Okay, I admit, that's kind of funny,” said Ivan, unable to keep himself from smiling, no matter how hard he tried. He could never go through with such a thing without magic, that was for sure. But with the capacity to make perfect disguises, it was an incredibly simple matter. “I believe that would be best translated as...” He spoke the words softly to Alfred, going over the pronunciation with him a few times before writing down the Cyrillic on the notepad that Alfred had helpfully provided.

Mere moments later, exactly _no_ eyes were turned towards the house as Ivan pulled open the curtains with magic. Though he was tempted to turn back and watch their reactions, he knew that even the best of distractions only worked for so long. So, ignoring the shrieking, he immediately got to work.

First, he took a closer look at the dead body. It was hunched over on the table, positioned to clutch a bottle of vodka in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. That was where the bottle that he'd taken with them on the way came in; with a teleportation spell, he moved it back onto the counter, and replaced it with one that he didn't have a prescription for, which would lead to questions about how he'd acquired it.

That wasn't quite enough, of course; a lot of people left their windows unlatched even during the winter, and it was easier to believe that someone had stolen pills somehow than that criminals had forced them down their throat. Next, he teleported a few objects out of place and knocked them to the floor, to indicate a struggle. He had to work quickly while still making the placement as realistic as possible.

And finally, it was time to start piling on the real humiliation. The thing that would make the organization's already sinking reputation REALLY tank. Something that no sane murderer (as sane as murderers could be, anyway) would ever do, but many did anyway, because they were idiots.

With gloved hands, he held up the note he'd printed off.

_Winter will never end._

Even if they didn't pay it much mind, and thought it a typical - albeit odd - suicide letter, it would become more apparent as they started to appear over multiple suicide scenes that something was connected, and that foul play could be involved. Their major clients would start to dwindle as word got around of police investigations, forcing them to take on riskier clientele in order to stay in business. From there, it was just a matter of time before they offered their services to the wrong person, and Ivan was going to do everything in his power to ensure that such a moment came sooner, rather than later.

With the note teleported into the house beside the dead body, Ivan turned around and walked off of the premises, motioning for his lovely distraction to follow.

He couldn't wait to watch the news.

 

* * *

 

 

 _“In other news, a young man was filmed by several onlookers running nude through the streets and screaming, 'I want to suck Putin's dick!' with the same words written on his chest,”_ said the woman on the news. _“Investigators have identified the individual as Dmitri Dostovalov, who was previously involved in an incident wherein he began masturbating in the hallway of his workplace...”_

“You _do_ realize that you've set back the Russian gay rights movement by at least ten to twenty more years, right?” said Ivan as he turned off the television. Not that he particularly cared, but still, one would think that a demon would be all about making sex and debauchery seem more appealing.

Alfred blinked, appearing confused. “How _is_ the gay rights movement here, anyway?”

“...Just how bad is the situation in Hell that you don't have to do _any_ research about a country before you get assigned to it?” asked Ivan, his palm meeting his face.

“Pretty bad,” said Alfred, whose full weight on Ivan's lap was beginning to cut off the circulation to his legs. “Including you and Winter, there are less than twenty witches in this entire country.”

 _“Twenty?”_ Just how rare WERE witches? No matter how he looked at it, that seemed very low, even in the wake of a demon shortage.

“Usually one in five hundred people in a given country are willing to sell their soul, and thus become a witch,” said Alfred, all too happy to nuzzle Ivan's neck, in spite of the scarf between his cheek and the witch's skin. “That's still true here, but the problem is that most demons are either unwilling to work outside of their preferred area, or are completely terrified of Yao, and are therefore waiting for Winter to die before they give it a shot.”

Everything he heard about Yao just made the situation look bleaker and bleaker, it seemed. “Why is he even allowed to form contracts? It seems a bit unfair to everyone else.”

Alfred laughed, still grinding his posterior against Ivan's crotch. “Fair?” he repeated, pinching the witch's cheeks. “Fairs are for tourists, master. Nothing's fair in life. What makes you think Hell would be any different?”

“No idea,” said Ivan, shaking his head.

“But anyway, any demon can make a contract as long as they pass the exam and get their license,” said Alfred, materializing a strange, badge-like object in his hand. It was black, with a bright red gem in the center. In text of the same color, it read, 'Alfred Franklin Jones' above, and 'Permissions: Overworld Travel and Contracting' below.

“And if you don't have one?” asked Ivan, purely out of curiosity as he wrapped his arms around an aura-leaking Alfred and pulled him closer without really thinking much about it.

“If you do something you're not supposed to without a license, you mean?” said Alfred, grimacing. “Not even I'm that reckless. The punishment for a first offense is to have your wings, horns, and tail all cut off. They grow back, of course, but they take a lot longer than any other part of a demon's body to heal. You wouldn't be flying for weeks. On top of that, you get a power inhibitor limiting you to the most basic of magic for about five years. Needless to say, you don't do ANYTHING without a license.”

“And a second offense?”

“If you're really that dumb,” said Alfred, resting his head against Ivan's shoulder, “you can look forward to fifty years of power inhibition and repeated wing, tail, and horn-clipping until they're up. On top of that, you get stuck with the Hell equivalent of community service.” Before Ivan could even ask, he was already going ahead; “And if by some stroke of bad luck you happen to have been born without anything even resembling a brain in your skull, the punishment for a third offense is an eternity of servitude, a permanent inhibitor, and a procedure that will remove your wings forever.”

“That's quite harsh,” said Ivan.

“Well, getting a license for _visiting_ the upper world isn't that hard. If you're just coming up here, there's really no excuse not to have one,” said Alfred. “I got mine shortly after I became a rank one less than a month after I became lucid, just for feeding.”

Shortly after he became a rank one? Given Alfred's age when he became a demon... “Feeding? As in, sex?”

“Well, duh.”

“And how did you find people to feed on?” asked Ivan, trying to word it in a way that didn't indicate just how much he was aware of. He was a serial killer, true, and it was definitely not his place to judge others for crimes that were arguably (very, very arguably, depending on who one spoke to) lesser than his, even if only by a tiny margin. Truth be told, he didn't even really care as much as he knew he ought to; he'd always found it difficult to care about anything other than his next kill. People, animals, school, politics... All meaningless in his mind. Nonetheless, the thought still evoked disgust, at least in that it was the furthest thing from attractive that he could possibly think of. Had Alfred _really...?_

“Francis found most of them for me, at first,” said Alfred, being equally vague in his response, almost as though he were deliberately hiding it. Trying to hide it, anyway. “It got easier as I got older to find people on my own.” Well, the vast majority of people weren't pedophiles, after all. Or at least if they were, they were unwilling to actually go through with their sexual desires.

“Surely it was strange the first time.” He didn't really care to imagine it. At that age, he hadn't even fully understood what sex _was._ The thought of someone _that age_ having to do such things just to _feed..._ Even if he was a demon, it was so bizarre. How had he not realized the full implications of Alfred's age when he turned until just then? And he'd said he couldn't control himself for a _year._ Before, images of Alfred as Ivan had always known him had come to mind, but that was no longer the case. How was that even biologically possible? He couldn't have been older than eight!

“You have no idea,” said Alfred, shaking his head. “Arthur wanted me drinking it second-hand for a little longer, since I was human once, and wasn't used to the idea of such things, but Francis convinced him that I had to start as soon as possible in order to learn. He 'broke me in,' as it were.” Ivan grimaced, but Alfred seemed to rush to reassure him: “Oh, it wasn't so bad! Really, more people should have their first time be with an incubus. There's a reason Francis is the rank five for lust.”

That really didn't help cleanse the mental images from Ivan's mind at all.


End file.
